


Anathema

by Anonymous



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alterate Universe - Non-Despair, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Cheating, Dementia, Exhibitionism, Mental Instability, Multi, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Promise me,” Komaeda said, his voice uncharacteristically low. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Hinata’s jaw, warm breath spilling over his neck. “Promise me you won’t just disappear.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
> _habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things;
> 
> first of all, i really never planned to reupload/continue this fic, so i apologize for taking it down and any inconvenience that might have caused. i'm especially sorry about losing the comments, but please know that if you left a comment before, it was and still is very much appreciated! ^^
> 
> secondly, if you read this fic before ~April, i'd recommend reading chapters five and six again because they changed quite a bit. nothing that major but it might get a lil confusing otherwise.
> 
> thirdly, thank you so much for the support on tumblr while this fic was down! it means a lot!<3

  
   “Hinata Hajime, Super High School Level Hope.” Komaeda slurred the words out between giggles, one arm draped heavily around Hinata’s neck. The room was dimly lit, Komaeda’s bright eyes stark in Hinata’s vision, trained on his own with an air of seriousness that made his throat constrict.

   “But not- not anymore!” He raised his voice, his tone becoming oddly serious, and Hinata could only roll his eyes. He was getting a few accusing glances from across the room, but how was he supposed to have known what a lightweight Komaeda would turn out to be? “Not anymore! No, now you’re... Hinata Hajime, Super University Level Medical Student.”

   The graduation party had been Ibuki’s idea, something proposed over finals that had snowballed into all sixteen of them being crammed into Hinata’s living room, because his house was not too far away and large enough that his family wouldn’t miss the use of one room for the night. For the last time, they wore the Kibougamine Academy uniforms, and somebody had ordered pizza, and now Komaeda was drunk and Nanami had disappeared into the small crowd surrounding the Playstation, leaving Hinata as the only person in the vicinity with the inclination to take care of him.

   Hinata laughed politely, easing Komaeda onto the couch before taking a long pull from his own glass – of orange juice, not alcohol, although somebody had gotten bored and decided to raid the liquor cabinets, passing around bottles that were currently wreaking havoc on the dignity of some of the guests, Komaeda included.  
“And what does that make you?” He ruffled Komaeda’s hair with more affection than he would’ve cared to show, had the other boy not been considerately tipsy. “Super Unemployed Level Good Luck?”

   Almost as soon as they were detached, Komaeda slung an arm around Hinata’s waist and pulled him down beside him. “Exactly,” he said with a firm nod. “You... you just wouldn’t believe how much we’ll all miss going to school with you, Hinata-kun. It’s going to be so lonely. I’m going to be so lonely.”

   “You say that like we won’t see each other again.” Hinata adjusted his position to get comfortable, feeling the couch dip a little as someone else took the remaining seat, but he ignored them. Still he felt distinctly awkward, his entire body stiffening when Komaeda placed one bony hand on Hinata’s chest, gripping his shirt tightly. “Hey, I ironed that-”

   “Promise me,” Komaeda said, his voice uncharacteristically low. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Hinata’s jaw, warm breath spilling over his neck. “Promise me you won’t just disappear."

   “I won’t just disappear,” Hinata repeated mechanically, attempting to pull away a little, but Komaeda’s hold was firm. He could feel what felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes on them, his face rapidly heating up, Komaeda’s eyes fluttering shut, eyelashes brushing against his cheek as they did so. “I promise.”

   Komaeda raised his head, gently moving the hand on Hinata’s chest to his chin and turning it so that their eyes could meet. Komaeda’s expression was etched deep with an odd mix of concentration and gratitude. After a long silence, pale lips parted. “Neither will I.”

   There was a loud chorus of whoops from the crowd around the television, everyone’s attention clearly focused on the climax of the game. Hinata’s breath caught in his throat. Having his friend in such close proximity to him had his pulse hammering in his ears, the rest of the room drowned out and far away. His mind went blank as he closed the distance between them, chastely pressing his dry lips against Komaeda’s for just a moment.

   He tasted like alcohol and mouthwash, minty and toxic. It was a taste he could get used to.

   But then logic kicked in and Hinata pulled back, horrified. The look on Komaeda’s face was nothing short of dazed. 

   “I have a girlfriend,” Hinata said under his breath, inching away from Komaeda as though that would somehow undo his mistake. A quick sweeping glance around the room revealed that nobody was looking at him, but he was more than aware of their presence – how could they have missed that? How could they not have heard, or-?

   God, he had a _girlfriend_.

   “I know.” Komaeda brought two trembling fingers to his own lips, touching them lightly against where Hinata had kissed him. Because Hinata had kissed him. “Hinata-kun, you...”  

   Hinata covered his burning face with his hands, clawing at his temples, mimicking the way the anxiety was clawing at his insides. “I’m an idiot. Komaeda-”

   “That you would want to kiss someone like me.” Hinata realised with horror that the light-haired boy’s voice was strained with emotion, as if he was going to cry. But when Hinata moved to look, his cloudy-grey eyes were, thankfully, dry. “Hinata-kun,” he said weakly. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

   Komaeda always looked so out of place in Hinata’s home, his messy hair and unusual fashion sense contrasting uncomfortably with the chic and modern designs that Hinata’s parents had adorned their house with. Unsurprisingly, the lighter haired boy had never mentioned the lavish state of the house. Komaeda had never disclosed exactly how much his parents had left him in his inheritance, but it was safe to say it was more than Hinata himself had ever possessed, probably many times over.

   “So what’s the new place like?” Hinata had asked, the day he had come over to help Hinata pack his things. There was already a small mountain of boxes forming on top of the desk, which was bending under the weight of it all, and Komaeda had shot them a barely-concealed look of concern before perching on the edge of Hinata’s bed.

   “It’s alright,” he replied, clasping his hands in his lap and smiling modestly. “My decorating probably doesn’t do it much justice though. But then again, I’m not a super high school level interior designer.”

   Hinata put his full weight on attempting to close one of the more stubbornly full boxes while Komaeda slicked cellotape over the opening. “You’re not a super high school level anything.”

   Komaeda shrugged it off. “Well, it only has three rooms, and I didn’t change much, but knowing me...”

   “Three rooms? You mean three bedrooms?” Hinata paused, a line of tape still hanging from his mouth where he had bitten it off the roll.

   Komaeda pulled a face. “Three rooms. You and I will have to share the bedroom. Of course, either of us sharing the room with Nanami-san would be indecent,” he had said airily, glancing back over his shoulder just to catch Hinata looking blatantly horrified. “And it’s not like you and I could both sleep on the sofa, is it?”

   Hinata was sure he had come up with those arrangements knowing full and well that neither he nor Nanami was in a position to seek out something better. They were both unemployed, both taking out loans to pay for their education. Komaeda taking them in had been an unexpected godsend.

   “Relax,” Komaeda had said with a small smile, upon seeing the look on Hinata’s face. “We’re all friends. We’ll have fun, don’t you think?”

   All through Hinata’s final year of high school, his parents had been constantly at his back about college funding; it was the family tradition to pave your own way, to take no handouts, to acquire a job good enough after graduation that you would be able to pay the loans back in a heartbeat. “You don’t come from a family of freeloaders,” Hinata’s father had told him over dinner one night. “You’re eighteen now. You shouldn’t have to rely on your parents anymore.”

   The truth was that he never had. Ever since he was young, Hinata had been more than aware that his family saw him as nothing more than a birthed investment. They poured money into his upbringing, and in return, he would achieve their level of affluence, and continue the family name with as much success as all those before him. Now that he was of age, they would be expecting a return.

   Nanami had no parents to speak of. Finding themselves in the same financially troubled boat, and attending the same university, with the transport fees draining their bank accounts dry within the first month of term, they’d had no option but to accept Komaeda’s offer to have them move in with him at the city apartment he’d started renting over summer vacation.

 

   On moving day, Nanami’s unusually tense hand was clasped with his as they stood at the train station, suitcases at their feet and hair ruffling in the early-summer breeze. Hinata’s parents hadn’t bothered coming to see him off. He thought of them, lounging around in their big house with the wine cellar and the nicely-decorated bedroom he only ever used over the holidays, and found himself hoping he’d never have to go back.

   “You don’t think he’ll try anything weird, do you?” she asked, turning to look at Hinata, who only frowned and clutched his coat tighter around himself.

   Hinata shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not like him to do weird things.”

   Nanami’s snort had only been cut off by the rush of the incoming train, blowing her skirt about her knees and forcing her to narrow her eyes against the wind. With a heavy sigh, she picked her suitcase up, and Hinata followed suit. Hands still clasped together, they boarded the train.

 

~*~

 

   “So this is the couch, Nanami-san,” Komaeda announced, nodding his head at the black leather sofa that seemed to take up about half of the tiny living room. He had left a thick woollen blanket slung over the back of it, and two soft pillows left propped up against one of the arm rests. There was even a small plush rabbit toy on the coffee table. “And that over there is the kitchenette,” he added, gesturing behind him as though it was possible to miss, “Which I hope you’ll never touch. Someone like you shouldn’t have to worry about menial chores like cooking.”

   The decorating wasn’t as bad as Komaeda had implied, although it did look a little plain. The main room housed a television on top of a low bookcase that was overflowing with hard-backed novels, the couch, and a small rail in the corner, apparently for Nanami’s clothes; as well as the kitchenette. For all Komaeda’s money, he certainly could’ve done more with his home. It looked like the kind of place where someone simply existed.

   “Do you even know how to cook?” Nanami asked suspiciously, eyeing the little kitchen with unease. Most of the counter space was taken up by the box that had Hinata’s coffee maker in it, and he shifted from one foot to the other, making a hasty mental note to move that as soon as possible. 

   Komaeda smiled and cocked his head to one side. “Do you think I lived alone all this time and never learned how to feed myself?”

   Hinata stood between them as they shared a long, steady stare between them. Nanami’s cold gaze slid from Komaeda’s sharp jaw-line to his protruding collarbones, to the shift in the fabric of his thin t-shirt that showed clearly where his hip-bones stuck out from his skin. Finally Nanami shrugged and set her suitcase down at her feet. Then, she shuffled over to one of the boxes and hauled out her Playstation. Hinata held a chuckle in his throat as she carried it over to the television and began messing with the wires; beside him, Komaeda watched in silence, smile frozen on his face.

   Hinata was more than aware how strained their relationship was. At school the two of them had barely even considered themselves friends, more like classmates who just happened to spend a lot of time together, on separate sides of Hinata. They played up the ruse of enjoying each other’s company, but Hinata wasn’t blind; he noticed the way Nanami sometimes glared at the light-haired boy when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, and the times that Komaeda had nonchalantly slipped into conversations anecdotes about Nanami accidentally dropping her tray in the lunch room, or tripping up the stairs on the way to class. They seemed incompatible, like poles on a magnet. As soon as it seemed like they were finally getting close, one of them would step defiantly away to keep their distance.

   “Well,” Komaeda piped up eventually, clapping his hands softly together in front of him. “That door there is the bathroom,” he said, gesturing to the one on the other side of the fridge, “and that one there is the bedroom.”

   The bedroom didn’t actually have a door so much as just a doorframe with a thin curtain covering it. Hinata glanced back over his shoulder quizzically, and Komaeda shrugged in a way that suggested he didn’t have anything to do with that choice of decor. Hinata pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room, coming to a halt as soon as he took in the sight before him.

   “Why is there only one bed in here?”

   Komaeda popped his head into the room, one eyebrow raised. “Ah, Hinata-kun, that one’s yours.”

   Hinata narrowed his eyes, briefly looking around as though expecting another bed to appear from nowhere. “So where’s your bed?”

   “I was thinking I’d sleep on the floor,” Komaeda answered casually, giving a small shrug before gesturing down at the bare wooden planks in front of the wardrobe. Sure enough, he had apparently already prepared a blanket, dumped in a small heap, and propped few pillows up against the wall. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, after all.”

   “Inconvenience me?”

   “We may not be in high school anymore, Hinata-kun, but someone with your talents deserves a bed more than I do, don’t you think? Since you’ll be working, and learning, and I, well...” he trailed off with a weak, raspy laugh.

   Hinata winced. Komaeda had already made it clear that pursuing further education would be more than he could cope with.

   “Not that I mind,” Komaeda added quickly, eyes going wide. “Not at all. Uncomfortable is best for me, really-”

   Hinata shook his head, too exhausted to listen to Komaeda’s rambling any longer. Even after a little over a year of knowing each other, Komaeda’s vicious self-deprecation still made him more than a little uncomfortable, to the point where he would do almost anything to avoid listening to it. At least at the beginning he could pretend it was just a joke, or maybe facetious behaviour to garner sympathy – Hinata was never sure which of these imaginary reasons would put Komaeda in a better light, but it didn’t matter. It soon became apparent that those tangents, as far as Komaeda was concerned, were the brutal truth.

   “Hm?” Komaeda was looking at him expectantly, still hovering in the doorway.

   "That’s ridiculous. You can’t sleep on the floor.”

   “I don’t think there’s anywhere else to sleep.”

   “Well, there’s...” Hinata sighed. Offering to sleep on the floor himself would be the right thing to do, the honourable thing to do, but he couldn’t deny that Komaeda had a point. Working all day and then sleeping on the floor was not a sacrifice Hinata particularly wanted to make. “We should share the bed. At least until we can get one for each of us.”

   Komaeda gave a wry smile. “Sure. Whatever you like, Hinata-kun.”

 

   They ordered in a pizza that night, eating in near-silence in the living room, Komaeda on the floor and Hinata and Nanami on the sofa, the guests of honour for the moment. Every couple of minutes Komaeda would pipe up some comment about being delighted to have them stay with him, and his eyes would brighten, and Hinata would notice Nanami’s fists clenching a little tighter in her lap.

   “Indecent,” Hinata heard her mumble to herself as she struggled to stuff the empty pizza boxes into a trash bag later. “As if we’ve never slept in the same bed before.”

   Komaeda’s lips had twitched, but he had only shifted a little closed to Hinata on the sofa and whispered, “Don’t tell me Nanami-san was sneaking into the boys dormitories for all these months. I can hardly imagine anything more perverse.”

 

~*~

 

   In all the time he’d known Komaeda, Hinata never thought he would be so familiar with the other boy’s bedtime habits.

   Komaeda liked to shower before bed. While the sound of water gushing filled the apartment, Hinata undressed, and then re-dressed, finding his boxer shorts and a t-shirt to be modest enough to sleep in without allowing the humid Japanese summer nights to roast him alive underneath the ridiculously heavy bedding. He rests his head on the generous stack of pillows, letting his eyes drift sleepily up to the ceiling, where they stay, wide open, until Komaeda returned, smelling distinctly of mint, his hair dripping water all over the floor.

   “Are you comfortable?” Komaeda chirped from in front of the mirror, where he stood bent over, gently wringing his hair with a clean, white towel.

   “Very,” Hinata mumbled back, shifting a little. His back was rigid; his entire body stiff with the awkwardness of sleeping in someone else’s bed, in someone else’s home. Mind hazy, he listened to Komaeda’s quiet humming as he went about his regime, rooting around in a few drawers and tidying things up here and there that had looked to Hinata to be perfectly in order in the first place. “Thank you for having me.”

   “Not at all.” Komaeda turned to smile sweetly at him. “My name may be on the lease, but you shouldn’t think of yourself as a guest.” The grin stayed uncomfortably fixed, but his nose wrinkled for a moment. “You act so formal about it.”

   Seemingly as an afterthought, Komaeda pulled on a soft-looking sweater before climbing under the covers. Hinata blinked, still staring firmly upwards, a glance at his roommate seeming somehow too intimate under the circumstances.

   The hours ticked by in flashes of the digital clock that rested on Komaeda’s nightstand, and by 2am Hianta wanted to pick it up and throw it out the window. Komaeda stirred beside him, making a soft noise and rolling onto his side. Hinata grit his teeth. Being jealous of other people for being able to sleep seemed low, really low, but it couldn’t be helped. His eyes stung, but his brain continued to whir.

   He didn’t know what it was. Classes had been okay; as good as classes could go when Hinata was concerned, nothing less than stressful but still manageable at least. Work, in its endless monotony and screeching of too many loud noises and nonsensical orders and a manger who seemed to draw her life energy from hanging over his shoulder constantly, searching for any mistake – it was okay, he told himself. Everything was okay.

   Komaeda’s elbow nudged his side, and then again, twice in quick succession, and that was all it took to make Hinata’s body freeze up. He swivelled his eyes to the side and sure enough, it was as day clear that Komaeda’s hand was working under the covers, the little gasps and breathy noises coming from more than just a restless sleep.

   He swallowed thickly. All at once he become painfully aware that this was wrong, sick - this was strange; but also, this was Komaeda’s bed, and Komaeda’s house, and it wasn’t like it was out of line for somebody to jerk off in their own bed. Hinata squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of his own cock hardening in his boxers. The shuffling of the bed sheets grew faster, louder, and the trembling, frail body next to his curled in on itself, as though trying to contain the pleasure.

   It didn’t take long with those jerky and hurried movements. Komaeda’s body squirmed once, and then tensed with his climax, a choked gasp escaping his throat.

   Hinata’s eyes flew open. One of his closest friends had just had an orgasm not even a metre away from him – it was a blatant fact, but it played over and over again in his cracked and tired mind. For all their lack of boundaries, things had never come this far. Their skin was almost touching, and Komaeda probably still had his thin fingers wrapped around himself, his breathing still distinctly ragged and heavy. And Hinata was hard – he cursed himself, fisting the sheets and rolling over to face the window. His body always seemed to betray him when it came to Komaeda.

   The mattress shifted and a moment later there were footsteps padding softly across the floorboards, clearly trying not to wake him on their way to the bathroom. The sink ran for a few minutes, and Hinata pushed himself to sit up, kneading his temples with his palms as though it could soothe him. Every nerve him him felt restless now, sending spikes of heat through him that had nothing to do with the humid summer night. His forehead was sweat-damp, his palms clammy. The water stopped running, and Hinata hurriedly moved to rest his head on the pillow again, watching through narrowed eyelids as Komaeda’s shadow appeared in the doorway, hands wringing nervously in front of him, shoulders hunched. He hovered there for a moment, apparently watching Hinata’s pretend-sleeping form, before he slid back beneath the sheets again without a word.

   It was hours before the tension in Hinata’s body finally receded, finally understanding that there was no chance of release, but even then his thoughts kept going, going, going until there was pink and then orange twinges on the horizon and the alarm clock going off at six-thirty and Hinata wanted to scream.

 

 


	2. Sedatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _a drug taken for its calming or sleep-inducing effect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please excuse any formatting errors! i'll fix them once all the chapters are reuploaded.

   The insomnia had started a few weeks after Hinata had begun his first term at Kibougamine Academy. It had been a book report that had done it, the first time. He had written the first draft on the train on the way home, concentrating so intensely that he’d missed his stop and had to walk halfway back in the rain. The final draft was completed after dinner. Hinata had gone to bed, his body tired, but his mind wasn’t. Those words were etched on the backs of his eyelids, all he saw in the darkness; the report, the scratch-scratch handwriting sound, the vision of a red-inked F stamped across the paper. For hours he chewed his fingernails until they bled rivulets between his parted lips. At five, he rose early to edit the report, again, and again, and again.

   Even after he it was handed in and graded A, he didn’t sleep. There was always something new to eat away at him, to play over and over again in his head and chase off any chance of rest. After two days, he started drinking coffee, chugging the bitter liquid down like ambrosia just to keep him going. After two weeks, he found himself drifting off in the cafeteria when a girl had approached him.

   “Hey, not here,” she had murmured, her own eyes heavy-lidded and friendly. “There’s a good spot in the library where nobody disturbs you, if you need a nap.”

   The coffee shop smell reminded him of that every time he came in the staff entrance, the heavy scent of the beans dragging him back to high school, to sleeping in the library next to a half-finished cocktail of energy drinks, to the panic attacks he had, locked in the school bathrooms whenever he felt himself struggling to stay afloat in the place where everyone seemed to be so much better. It dragged him down, from his heart and the corners of his mouth.

   Time seemed to slow in that building, and there was never enough of it. Every minute spent with that apron on with another pile of coursework left undone. Another potential failure on his record.

   They had taken them off the register weeks ago for looking too dour. He only hovered around, squirting blue disinfectant on dirty plastic tables and working the machines until his hands ached, taking orders from the others. It was the only thing he really knew how to do.

   Every time he saw a student working away in the corner, he’d collect their empty cups with a forced smile.

   “Hey, do you go to Kibougamine?” he’d say in a practiced, casual tone.

   And they’d say, “No.”

   And he’d say, “Good.”

 

*

 

   “I can’t sleep.” The words came out flat, but then, they always did.

   “Right.” The doctor turned from his computer to look Hinata over, gaze clearly lingering on the harsh dark circles beneath his eyes, the paleness of his lips. “And how long have you been unable to sleep?”

   “A year.”

   Hinata had never been to a public health clinic before. The doctor he had seen as a child had been expensive, and his office and the clothes he wore had shown it. This one had a computer that looked like it had fallen out of the 1990s. But as far as Hinata was concerned, the drugs they gave out were all the same, so why did it matter?

   The doctor asked him some more inane questions. Hinata grit his teeth listing off every sleeping tactic he’d tried; television before bed, no television before bed, television in bed; warm milk, no carbs after dinner, exercise, no exercise, sex, no sex, no caffeine, lights on, lights out, dim lighting, hotels, the couch, sleeping on his front, sleeping on his back, every single sleeping pill stocked by the local pharmacy – nothing had worked more than once, and even the sleeping pills had him waking up after three hours in a panicked state, the lost time disorienting him somehow. He’d grown so unaccustomed to unconsciousness.

   (“Prescription sleeping pills are pretty heavy duty,” Nanami had said after a great deal of thought on the matter that morning; as though he, a medical student, would be completely oblivious to that fact. “You’ll probably be drowsy enough in the morning that you won’t be able to worry about it.” 

   She hadn’t convinced him.)

   “Well,” the doctor said, rapping at his keyboard a couple of times. “It sounds like you have insomnia.”

   Hinata stared blankly at him, before saying, “Yes.”

   “It’s not terribly uncommon among people your age,” the doctor continued, finally turning his attention back to Hinata again as the little printer on his desk began to rattle and then work. Hinata watched as it vomited the sheaf of paper out, bit by bit. “I’ve prescribed you some sleeping pills; these ones should be more potent than anything you’ve tried before, but if they don’t work, come back and I’ll give you something stronger.”

   “Thank you,” Hinata said mechanically. The doctor signed and then handed the paper to him, and he folded it up, slipping it into his pocket.

   Hinata walked to the pharmacy in the pelting rain, pulling the hood of the jacket up almost over his eyes to shield his face from it. The roads were at their busiest at this time in the evening, the rush hour traffic a blurred mass of car headlights and furious, blaring horns. People bustled in and out of the shops, the streets were packed; Hinata loved the anonymity of it. He had always thought there was something safe and familiar about being just another nobody in the crowd. Just exactly where he belonged.

   He dripped rainwater onto the white tiles of the pharmacy while he waited for his order. He eyed the non-smoking advertisements and the racks of over-the-counter ointments for all kinds of strange ailments, just waiting for those poor embarrassed souls who had to buy them. On an impulse, he bought a sandwich, and ate it on the way home, swinging the paper pharmacy bag in his other hand.

   All the while, thoughts about Komaeda stormed inside his head. If he could sleep through Komaeda’s antics, would that feel the same as if they simply stopped? Hinata didn’t know. He wasn’t a preschooler; he knew that just because he couldn’t see something didn’t mean it had gone away, that the problem would just be magically resolved. But at the same time, being asleep meant he wouldn’t have to hear it. He wouldn’t react again and risk Komaeda noticing that, and then initiating something – Hinata dumped his sandwich wrapper in a nearby trashcan with more force than was really necessary. If Komaeda did try something, especially if Hinata had become as worked up as he was the last time, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it. He wouldn’t be able to make himself say no.

   It wasn’t right. It wasn’t justifiable – but it was true, and there was nothing Hinata could do about it.

   He trudged up the stairs to the apartment, then opened the door slowly, trying to avoid the loud creak it sometimes made in case Nanami was asleep on the couch. She wasn’t; she was sitting up, controller in hand, legs crossed, with a pile of textbooks and untouched assignments on the table. Hinata cleared his throat to announce his presence, but she didn’t move.

   “...Sorry,” she said, fingers still furiously mashing the buttons. “It’s a competitive game, I can’t pause.”

   Hinata took a moment to watch the character’s expert movements playing out on the television; wondered if any of her competitors even knew they were playing against the most accomplished teenage gamer in the country. But all of her numerous accounts were so well known online, it would be hard for anyone not to recognise her.

   He slipped into the bathroom, carefully placing the little bottle of pills into the medicine cabinet. He had to rearrange some of Komaeda’s tablets to fit it in without the rest spilling out; his poor roommate seemed to be on about every medication under the sun. He had never realised it before.

   He stepped back to admire the now-much-tidier cabinet for a moment. Komaeda’s medications still dominated it, and Nanami already had left her mark in there with some of her own products. He smirked and wondered how Komaeda felt about that.

   Returning to the living room he found Nanami had finished her game, and she stood to greet him properly, standing on tiptoe so that she could throw her arms around his neck and press a light kiss to his cheek, and then another to his lips. He hummed happily, breathing in the scent of the sweet coconut shampoo she always used.

   “What did the doctor say?”

   “He gave me something that should help.”

   Nanami held him at arm’s length, her hands on his shoulders. “You don’t look convinced of that.”

   “And you don’t look like you have time to be having this conversation with me right now,” he said, but lightly, gesturing towards the overflowing table.

   “Oh, that.” Nanami shrugged. “I’ll get it done.”

   “If you say so.” He kissed her once more before breaking away to sling off his own bag, and then empty it out on the free part of the dining table. “What have you been doing all day, anyway?”

   “Well, this. I played a few rounds with Mikan earlier and invited her to dinner with us tomorrow night, if that’s okay with you?”

   Hinata grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tsumiki, but a night out meant shifting his schedule a full today to the right of his planner, every deadline drawing closer by an inch.

   “It sounds like fun,” he forced a smile, lowering himself into his seat. Nanami continued to hover there beside him, as though waiting for something.

   “...Okay, then,” she eventually said when he pulled a textbook closer to him. “Tomorrow night at six. Don’t look so sour about it when we get there, okay?”

   Hinata let his mouth relax into a genuine smile. “No, it really does sound like fun. Tell her I’ll be there.”

 

~*~

 

   Before bed, Hinata set a glass of water on his bedside table, as well as one of the new little pills. Komaeda was already tucked neatly under the covers, his hair still slightly damp, reading a murder mystery novel. To Hinata’s relief, he didn’t look up when he started stripping of his clothes, nor when he switched his laptop on and crawled under the covers as well, settling it on top of his knees. Every so often, Hinata glanced at the other boy, reading so calmly without even acknowledging him. It felt like being married.

   Even more than that, it made it feel like the incident from a few nights ago had been nothing but a delirious fantasy. Komaeda hadn’t made any mention of it, and Hinata had, of course, followed his lead. There was no way he would be able to bring it up without stammering at least, blushing furiously at the worst. That was probably what Komaeda was aiming for.

   Hinata could hear the voice in his head now - see Komaeda’s sly smile so clearly in his mind. “Well, Hinata-kun! I didn’t think you would be so interested in my intimate habits!”

   Of course he would say something like that. Of course he would. Hinata knew him far too well.

   Resolving not to think about it anymore, he dove into his schoolwork. It was much easier to get things done at night, when there was nobody around to disturb him. At some point, Komaeda set his book down on the floor and turned the bedside lamp off. “Goodnight, Hinata-kun,” he said cheerfully, the way he always did. “Yeah,” Hinata said, and kept on working.

   When the first hints of pink were on the horizon, Komaeda’s palm slammed abruptly onto his keyboard, and rested there, unmoving. Hinata reeled back for a moment, his vision bleary. Komaeda usually slept much more peacefully than this. Gingerly, he put his thumb and forefinger around his wrist, raising and then moving it, dropping it back onto the covers. It wasn’t until a glint of pale green caught his eyes, and he started, sending his wireless mouse clattering to the floor.

   “Oops.” Komaeda sat up, patting Hinata’s bare shoulder apologetically. It had been too hot to sleep with a shirt on tonight, but as soon as Komaeda’s skin made contact with his, he regretted it. “Did I scare you?”

   “No!” Hinata lied quickly, shoving his laptop down the bed to retrieve the mouse, which seemed to have fallen somewhere underneath the bedside table. “Why are you still awake, anyway?”

   “All I can hear is your typing. You’ll give me insomnia soon! Not that I would mind having another thing in common with you, but...” He shook his head. “I’m tired.”

   Hinata pulled the laptop back into place again, shooting Komaeda an apologetic look as he did so. “I can’t help it, this assignment’s due in a few days and I have work tomorrow.”

   Komaeda titled his head to one side. “How many days?”

   “A few.”

   “I don’t believe you,” Komaeda said flatly, but then his tone lightened. “You know what? I’m going to check your planner.”

   “Don’t,” Hinata said, not looking up from his screen, fingers still clicking away at the keys.

   The mattress shifted and Komaeda was up in an instant, dragging Hinata’s book bag out from under the bed and rifling through it until he triumphantly pulled the small black planner out. He stood upright, moving into Hinata’s eye-line before coyly examining the cover. “Why would you care if you had nothing to hide, Hinata-kun?”

   Hinata slammed the laptop lid down. “I said don’t!”

   “Your handwriting is so neat, Hinata-kun,” he beamed. He leafed through the pages and Hinata tossed the laptop aside, lunging to grab the notebook back, but Komaeda held it out of reach, his pitchy laughter echoing around the small bedroom. Book still held above his head, he opened it again, titling his head to read. “There’s nothing here about an assignment due tomorrow. Or the next day...?”

   “Komaeda!” Hinata tried with all his might to sound annoyed, but he could stop the laugh that slipped past his lips. Before he knew it he was standing up on top of the bed, leaning precariously over the edge with one hand on the dresser to balance himself as he tried to retrieve the planner, but Komaeda kept playfully dodging, swatting him away, still grinning as his eyes scanned the pages of cramped handwriting.

   “This isn’t funny,” he tried again, this time managing to inject just a little sternness into his tone. “And stop calling me that.”

   (And maybe the situation wasn’t entirely humourless, but the nickname really did irritate him when Komaeda said it in that sing-song way, that blatantly just doing it to get on his nerves way. At school once he’d tried using Komaeda-kun for a day as revenge, but the look of shocked bliss on the other boy’s face had freaked him out, so that was the end of that.)

   “Your assignment isn’t due for two weeks!” Komaeda shrieked, flinging the book halfway across the room in his attempt to keep it out of reach. They both froze, eyes locked on the object for several seconds before they finally glanced at each other and then, simultaneously, leapt for it. In the cramped room, Hinata easily knocked his competitor to one side, grinning at his victory – until there was a thud that reverberated through every bone, and he found himself face-down on the floor, Komaeda’s laugher the only thing permeating his senses.

   “You tripped me?” Hinata tried to sit up, but Komaeda held him down by the shoulders, gently but firmly pinning him. Hinata’s breath caught in his throat when Komaeda abruptly decided to sit on him, the taller boy’s legs settling on either side of his waist, his entire body shaking with giggles as he reached for the notebook again. “You dirty little-”

   “Dirty little what?” Komaeda teased, dangling the black book in front of Hinata’s face momentarily before snatching it up again. Hinata heard the pages being turned and then a soft, “Oh.”

   “'Oh’ what?” he turned hurriedly, managing to shift Komaeda with relative ease. With as little force as possible he freed himself from the restraints, but it wasn’t difficult; Komaeda’s entire body seemed to have gone limp. “What did you see?”

   “Just a page, Hinata-kun.” The innocence in Komaeda’s voice was nearly sickening. He managed to compose himself a little, and out of the corner of his eye Hinata watched him toss the book under the bed-frame. “We should just go back to sleep, don’t you think?”

   “You obviously saw something you didn’t like, what?”

   “Well, I don’t know.” He sounded bright, shifting himself into a sitting position with leg legs folded under him. “What were you hiding from me?”

   “I wasn’t hiding anything. I just thought you were going to get on my case about the assignment, and I was right!”

   Hinata flinched at the sharpness of his own words. He hadn’t meant it to be come out harsh, but from the startled look on Komaeda’s face, it clearly had. Without thinking he reached out to touch Komaeda’s hand, only to find it snatched out of his grasp.

   Frowning, Hinata reached under the bed and slid the planner back out. Komaeda tensed, but didn’t stop him as he read through page after page until he finally found what Komaeda must have seen.

   “This?” Hinata turned the book around, and Komaeda bowed his head. “You’re upset about this?”

   The page in question had been doodled on during a particularly boring anatomy class. It made Hinata cringe inwardly to even see it again; he felt stupid, like a schoolboy, when he saw those words again only weeks after originally writing them. The paper was decorated with a large, loopy script of the name Chiaki, surrounded by small love hearts.

   Komaeda sighed. “It’s just embarrassing.”

   “Well, yeah, it is.”

   “For me.” Komaeda was rubbing at one wrist, staring at it with enough focus that it was as though he was trying to remove it from his arm entirely.

   Hinata stared at the page, uncomprehending. “Second-hand embarrassment, maybe.”

   Komaeda shook his head. “I suppose I just didn’t understand how you felt. Or... feel. About Nanami-san.”

   “You didn’t understand that I had a crush on her?” Hinata raised an eyebrow. He really didn’t understand Komaeda’s sense of humour sometimes.“Even though we’ve been dating for all these months?”

   “It’s not that. You never talk about her, so I just thought maybe you were trying to... I don’t know.” But the way he trailed off made it clear that he did know, and was holding it back. The thought made Hinata’s jaw clench.

   “It’s because I knew you didn’t like her – you still don’t. I don’t know why you even pretend, honestly. Or how you missed that she’s... special to me.” Hinata shook his head. “What did you think I was doing? Phasing her out?”

   “I know she’s what you deserve, I would never presume- anything like that. You aren’t like that, Hinata-kun, you’re the best person I know!” He took a moment to breathe, levelling the slight waver that had been creeping into his voice until he was back to sounding nonchalant. He shrugged and looked away. “I just thought you were trying to spare my feelings, maybe.”

   The words hit Hinata like an ocean wave, dragging him under for a long moment where he could only let the coldness wash over his skin, settling a chilled heaviness in his chest.

   Komaeda blanched and, seeing the look on his face, the other boy stood quickly, and Hinata didn’t miss the slight flush of redness on his cheeks or the way his narrow shoulders slumped as he fled from the room and slammed the door behind him, but god, he wished he had.

   All he could do was stare at the wall until the front door slammed, too, and Nanami groaned loudly and incoherently from the couch in protest.

   With only a moment’s hesitation, Hinata was on his feet, pulling on a jacket and shoes and sprinting after Komaeda. His bare legs shivered the moment the outside air made contact with them, but it didn’t matter. Spare his feelings. Hinata hadn’t even bothered to try. Komaeda wasn’t just sulking for no reason; it was an emotional reaction, and it was Hinata’s fault, and it had to be fixed but it was too late- the street looked deserted, he had waited too long-

   But then he saw Komaeda’s familiar form in the doorway of the takeout place across the street. Hinata hurried across the road and when Komaeda heard him and lifted his head, Hinata swore the look in his eyes was exactly like a deer in headlights.

   “Don’t go,” Hinata said, slowing down a couple of feet from the doorway as if Komaeda might actually sprint away like a frightened animal. But he just stood there, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, staring at Hinata, dumbfounded.

   “I say the stupidest things, Hinata-kun,” he said, shaking his head. “Isn’t that exactly what you would expect of me? To be jealous of Nanami-san?” He said the word jealous like it was disgusting, slimy in his mouth; something toxic.

   “You aren’t being stupid, alright?”

   Komaeda didn’t look like he believed it, but said nothing.

   “Well, maybe it was a little stupid to run out here in your pyjamas, but other than that. I’m not going to hate you for... whatever this is, if that’s what you think.”

   Whenever Komaeda was about to say something self-deprecating, his eyes seemed to go wide, frantic; his lips curved into a smile no matter how distraught he seemed. The things Komaeda said about himself made Hinata’s skin crawl. They sounded so familiar, and so raw, and so terrible. No matter how many times he said them, they never felt less terrible.

   As soon as Hinata caught that expression creeping back, he did the only thing he could think to do. He took a step closer to Komaeda, the older boy’s confused gaze meeting his for a split-second before their lips met. And as soon as they did Hinata felt that familiar firestorm of regret and guilt and resentment; resentment of himself, resentment towards Komaeda for somehow trapping him like this again, without even the excuse of alcohol. But he also felt the way Komaeda’s lips relaxed against his, and how the other boy’s fingers tentatively intertwined with his own.

   “Thank you,” was the first thing Komaeda said after they pulled apart. His cheeks were flushed. Hinata quickly decided that that was a good look on him.

   And then immediately felt terrible for thinking that.

   “I’m the worst person.”

   “No,” Komaeda said quickly, squeezing Hinata’s hand. But he didn’t elaborate, even though Hinata had sort of been hoping that he would somehow be able to come up with a reason as to why he wasn’t total scum. “I’ll fix this. Don’t worry about anything.” 

   Hinata had the fleeting idea that Komaeda’s words might be ominous, as though he was going to kill Nanami to get her out of the way or something. But the idea evaporated when Komaeda leaned in to kiss him again, his lips curved into the most genuine smile Hinata had ever seen.

 

~*~

 

   At work the next morning, Hinata scrubbed his hands raw at the washroom sink thinking about Nanami. Komaeda had slept in late when they went back upstairs, and she had been the one to cook breakfast, and then she had kissed him on the cheek and told him she loved him and he had been overwhelmed with the urge to take the frying pan and slam it into his own face for being so terrible and stupid.

   The thing was that he couldn’t imagine her being angry. She had too much self-control to lose her cool. He couldn’t imagine her being anything more than apathetic, but that didn’t mean it was okay.

   He supposed they had never explicitly talked about cheating. She never said it wasn’t an acceptable thing to do. But the guilt that curled in Hinata’s stomach made it clear as day that he had done a bad thing; no matter how much the devil on his shoulder might have been trying to convince him otherwise.

   And why Komaeda, of all people? How did he manage to make Hinata kiss him for a second time even when it was very much against his better judgement? Was Hinata really that weak willed? He dried his hands off with a towel and sighed. It was probably witchcraft or close quarters or hormones, or some twisted mixture of the three. Yes, that was definitely what it was.

   “Slacking off again, Hinata?” his manager called from the doorway. He hung his head, ignoring her, unable to even look at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t slept in days. The sallowness of his skin was making those ugly scars on his forehead stand out again. He thought about growing his hair out to cover them, but that probably y wasn’t a good look on him.

   “Hinata?” his manager tried again, clearly angrier this time. Where were his thoughts going? He smoothed down his apron and stepped out into the store, the cacophony of gossiping strangers and whirring coffee machines hitting him like a freight train, bright lights tearing at his eyes.

   “I’m going,” he mumbled, taken aback for a moment when she shoved the spray bottle and cloth into his hands.

   At the end of his shift, he caught the train to the hospital where he and Nanami had agreed to meet up with Tsumiki. Packed in with the crowd of sweaty strangers, he looked, dismayed, down at his clothes. He wouldn’t have time to go home and change. He thought about calling Komaeda and asking him to bring something for him, but that would mean inviting him to dinner as well, and sitting between those two in a restaurant sounded like literal hell given the circumstances.

   The hospital was brightly lit and almost empty, probably because it was out of visiting hours. Hinata always felt so out of place there, simply because he knew he would soon be more than a guest within these walls. Someday he would be spending his every day here. He would have a pager and everything.

   It was a little overwhelming to think about, but luckily Nanami appeared then, ducking through the automatic doors. A small smile broke on her face when she saw him and sauntered over to say hello. She pressed her body against his side, allowing his arm to drape over his shoulders while they waited. He had never felt so awkward. Didn’t she taste that someone else had had their lips on his? Didn’t he smell more minty than usual, or something?

   “Komaeda?” Nanami said suddenly, and his heart plummeted, expecting her to continue with some accusation. He squeezed his eyes shut. Yes. Komaeda. He kissed Komaeda and he was terrible and he was sorry. “Komaeda, over here!”

   He opened his eyes a little and sure enough, on the other side of the lobby he could see that familiar shock of white hair. He was going for the other set of doors, coat hanging a little off his shoulders, hands shoved in the pockets again. “Komaeda?” he echoed, and that was what finally caught the other boys’ attention.

   He visibly hesitated for a moment, looking to the doors, then Hinata, then the doors again, before he finally decided to come over to them, dragging his feet a little as he did so. “Hi, Hinata-kun. Nanami-san.”

   “What are you doing here?” Nanami said, looking him over as though expecting to find a gaping, gory wound on him.

   “Oh,” Komaeda looked over his shoulder at the reception desk, and then pointlessly gestured to it. “I’m just... here.”

   Nanami blinked. “I know.”

   “For health,” Komaeda added unhelpfully. “It is a hospital after all.”

   Nanami blinked again. “Well, that’s true.”

   “But I’m going home now, so, bye, then.” Komaeda said the words quickly, before Hinata could even speak. “Have a good dinner with- oh, hello, Tsumiki-san.”

   Komaeda nodded politely at Tsumiki, who had just appeared beside him, before turning and heading straight for the doors again.

   Tsumiki watched him go, and then glanced to Hinata and Nanami for explanation. When none was given, she piped up, “Um, what was that about?”

   “I have no idea,” Nanami said, shaking her head. “Did you see him while he was here?”

   “Was he in the oncology ward?” Hinata didn’t think before he spoke, and felt his face heating up with how panicked he had sounded, and that just made the fear worse, as though saying it had somehow made it true.

   “...Don’t say that,” Nanami reached out to hold his hand as the three of them walked towards the doors, stepping out into the twilight. “He got the all-clear months ago. He’s fine now. And he would have told you if he wasn’t.”

   “He would not.”

   “Yes he would.” She sounded certain, and that lifted Hinata’s spirits a little. “He wouldn’t have been able to handle it on his own if it was that, would he?”

   “M-most people don’t go to appointments in that ward alone,” Tsumiki added from Nanami’s other side. “I can t-tell you that.” 

   Most people’s behaviour didn’t usually tend to match with what Komaeda did, but still Hinata relaxed a little at those words. All through dinner he kept checking his phone, waiting for some word about what happened, but Komaeda didn’t make any move to contact him. During dessert, Nanami finally confiscated the device, insisting that Komaeda would talk when he was ready. “It could be something really embarrassing,” she told him, slipping the phone into her bag and zipping it tight. “He could have some kind of... male... problem. You don’t know.”

   His male parts seemed pretty functional a few nights ago, Hinata thought bitterly, but accepted defeat.

   They walked Tsumiki home, listened to her talk about an elderly patient of hers who had proposed marriage every single night this week. Hinata was grateful for the distraction. When she was safely inside her house, the two of them ambled back to their own apartment together, Nanami pulling out her PSP after about five steps and Hinata trying his best to prevent her from bumping into any lampposts. “It’s not fair on her,” Nanami said, eyes still locked on the screen. “They work her half to death in there.”

   Hinata laughed. “Yeah, I can’t imagine.”

 

~*~

 

   Komaeda was cold. His pale skin seemed to exude a chill like Hinata had never felt before, as though his startlingly blue veins were made of ice, his organs pulsing beneath frozen bones. On opposites of the bed, Hinata felt warm in comparison, different elements just asking for a startling chemical reaction, like lava and ice water. Komaeda left the shower temperature turned up so high Hinata didn’t understand how he didn’t come away with third-degree burns. He wore his jacket all the time, even in this house, even on the days when Hinata spent all day slaving in the packed, sweltering library of the university, only to come home to find Komaeda curled up in bed with a book and a mug of hot chocolate, military-green coat draped around his shoulders.

   It wasn’t so bad for the summer, but Hinata had entertained the notion that Komaeda might actually land himself in the hospital with hypothermia or something by the time winter rolled around. Or maybe he already had. His circulation really was awful.

   That was his excuse to sleeping so close to Komaeda that night. He had been feigning sleep since Hinata got home; he wasn’t very good at it, but Hinata decided to let him be. But Komaeda somehow felt even chillier than normal, curled up in a ball under the bedcovers with his knees clutched up to his chest as though conserving body heat. Hinata had listened to his teeth chattering for hours, the occasional full-body shudder rousing Hinata from the semi-conscious trance that was the closest thing he got to sleep, most nights.

   And of course, Hinata had ditched any notion of taking the sleeping pill as soon as he noticed Komaeda’s discomfort. It would be pretty heartless to be sleeping while Komaeda couldn’t, whatever the reason was.

   “Hey,” he piped up at last, nudging the other boy’s leg with his foot. “You’re cold,” he said, lamely.

   “I suppose so, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda sighed, no trace of sarcasm in his tone. He sounded almost disappointed – in himself or something else, Hinata wasn’t sure.

   “Well, let me help you.” Without hesitation Hinata shifted closer until his face was resting against the nape of Komaeda’s neck, white hair tickling his nose, and threw an arm around the other boy’s waist, pulling him closer. Komaeda went abruptly still, and then relaxed with a shaky exhale.

   And Hinata wasn’t the kind of person to effectively cuddle his friends – he was sure of that. Especially not friends who he had kissed twice the previous night, and hated himself for it, and now was caught in some kind of limbo with them where he wanted them but he shouldn’t and he couldn’t and it had all blossomed into one big static ball of confusion in his mind - and especially not when his girlfriend was in the other room, relegated to sleeping on the couch by said friend.

   But he also wasn’t the kind of person who let somebody freeze to death in their own bed. Trying to discreetly keep his crotch as far away from the slight curve of Komaeda’s ass as was humanly possible, he let his eyes fall shut, breathing in the other boy’s clean scent. Holding Komaeda was sort of like having your arms wrapped around a human-shaped iceberg, and there was only a thin, rough khaki barrier between his own warm skin and Komaeda’s shivers, but he didn’t mind.

   Something in the back of his mind was screaming that he really, really should.

   “You don’t have to this, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda arched his back, pressing it harder into Hinata’s torso. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve this kind of hospitality at all- in fact, I should be the one being hospitable to you. You’re so generous to me and I-”

   Hinata cut him off with a huff. “Don’t do the someone like me thing again. Someone like you is cold, so don’t argue. You don’t have to make such a big deal about it.”  
“I feel like I always am. I don’t know why. It’s not so uncommon, among people...” He hesitated before adding, “Like me.”

   “Sick people?”

   “Well!” Komaeda replied indignantly. “That’s a harsh judgement, don’t you think?”

   Hinata opened his mouth to stammer out an apology, but faltered when he heard a dry laugh, and felt the other boy’s shoulders shaking with it. “I like to think my body thinks it has more important things going on than keeping me comfortable.”

   “Like keeping you alive?”

   Komaeda said nothing.

   “It must take a lot out of you.”

   It was a pointless question. Hinata already knew, from the way that Komaeda always seemed to be taking afternoon naps and groaning in pain, body creaking audibly whenever he got up from the sofa that it did. He didn’t even have the energy to keep himself warm.

   “Maybe I should stop saying things like that.” Komaeda sat up, pushing his hair back with one hand and turning to look blearily out of the window behind the bed. Morning broke so early in the summer. The new sunlight cast him in a rosy glow, and Hinata quickly decided that he suited the way it softened his sharp features, seemed to gently push back in all those bones that protruded from him. “Complaining. Things have been much better with you around, you know.”

   Hinata didn’t know what to say, so he said, “That’s good."

   “The doctor said I shouldn’t be living by myself,” Komaeda blurted out, seeming to regret it instantly. But, noticing Hinata’s inquisitive look, he continued. “They wanted to put me in a home after school was over.”

   Hinata sat up quickly, almost bumping his head against the windowsill in the process. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “I didn’t want you to know how useless I am.” Komaeda shook his head, laughing again. “Stupid. I know. But it doesn’t matter n ow, does it? You have Nanami-san.”

   “Komaeda, I-” Hinata hesitated, whatever words he’s had in mind died instantly on his tongue as soon as Komaeda’s forlorn gaze met his. “I don’t think I understand. Why would they put you in a home? You’re nineteen.”

   “Not a children’s home.” Komaeda’s hands fisted the blankets. “A mental hospital. A care home.”

   The silence dropped like a weight. Komaeda didn’t avert his gaze, and Hinata searched his face for some sign that he was joking. Everything was too still, to quiet; his brain felt like it, too, had stammered to a halt.

   “So that’s what you were doing at the hospital.” It wasn’t a question; the way Komaeda had so blatantly avoided him there, the way he’d looked mortified in that hospital lobby told Hinata everything he needed to know.

   “They diagnosed me a year ago. I was just having an examination, it was...” Komaeda sighed, and Hinata couldn’t tell if it was because of his demanding questions or because of the way Komaeda was trying to tell him everything at once, and he couldn’t, and it was frustrating the both of them. “It was what they expected.”

   “Which was?” Hinata resisted the urge to grab the older boy by the shoulders and shake the answers out of him. “What did they expect?”

   Komaeda closed his eyes for a moment, and then re-opened them, seeming to have thought things over. “I have a degenerative brain condition, because of the damage from the tumour. Fronto-temporal dementia. Well, I already knew that, of course.” He tried to laugh, but it came out choked, and Hinata was struck with the sudden desire to hold his hand again; but Komaeda still had the blankets in a vice grip, so he thought better of it. “They think I probably have a three or four years left. There’s no cure or anything, you just have to let it...” His breath caught audibly in his throat and he looked surprised at his own reaction. “Let it...”

   He trailed off, bringing his hands up to his hair, but this time they tangled in it before he brought his palms down to press against his temples.

   “You knew about this for a year?”

   “I didn’t- didn’t think I would have any longer than that.” He stumbled on the word, but Hinata was surprised to notice that he wasn’t crying. “But I couldn’t give up hope – I can’t! Some people live as long as even ten years!”

   “You should’ve told me. When I saw you at the hospital, it really freaked me out. You know what I thought?”

   “You thought I was out of remission, didn’t you? I wouldn’t have told you about this if I didn’t know you would jump to conclusions, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda patted Hinata’s arm sympathetically, and that seemed to soothe him. They sat in silence, Komaeda’s thumb brushing over the smooth skin of Hinata’s arm. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. Thank you for talking to me, anyway.”

   The conversation was clearly over, but Hinata didn’t feel anything like closure. The information fizzled in his mind; there was still so much he didn’t understand, but Komaeda was already pushing the covers back.

   “Wait, where are you going?” Hinata turned to watch Komaeda as he swiftly got up and headed for the door, still in his pyjamas, hair even messier than usual from the sleepless night. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

   “I’m making breakfast for Nanami-san,” Komaeda replied shortly, pushing the curtain aside before stepping over the threshold and letting it fall closed behind him, leaving Hinata alone in the cold and empty bed.


	3. Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _the lack or denial of something considered to be a necessity._

      “Hello?” The customer slapped her hand down on the counter. The shock had Hinata jolting out of his stupor, reeling right back into the co-worker operating the machine behind him, who snarled some furious insult. Hinata heard it like a distant echo; something along the lines of you’re useless or you’re terrible or you’re always like this – “I said, I’d like a caramel macchiato, please.”

   “Yeah.” Hinata said it flatly, completely numb to the customer’s scowl. His conscience told him, he should be polite. He should apologize. He should try his hardest to take a nap in the break room, even though it never worked, just to chase off the fog that lingered over him, stealing away whatever alertness had remained in his system before he left for work that morning. He should be polite. His boss would kill him if he didn’t apologize. The thoughts ran through his head, distant and meaningless. When he opened his mouth, all that spilled out was, “That’s fine. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

   He could feel the co-worker’s eyes on the back of his head. “She’s probably going to file a complaint, you know,” he thought he heard, but over the roar of the espresso machine, he couldn’t be sure.

   The last two weeks had faded into a long, monotonous blur. Every night he’d lain awake next to Komaeda and let his mind blurt all of those incoherent worries out into his consciousness – hadn’t even touched the sleeping pills because he needed the time to think, he was more than aware that if he didn’t do it at night he’d find himself distracted in class or maybe sobbing in the library; he didn’t know what would happen if he just let these things sit, let them rest. He was sure he must have slept at some point, otherwise he’d probably be dead by now, but he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember dreaming or waking up. He could barely even remember what he had for breakfast that morning.

   He recalled, dimly, that he had almost passed out in the shower, stumbling out and soaking the floor with the water still running down from his hair. Clinging to the sink and breathing that humid air deep into his lungs, the porcelain cold against his clammy hands. Even now, he was so unsteady on his feet. If he hadn’t been put on the register due to one of his co-workers calling in sick, he was sure he would’ve knocked over half the tables in the place in his effort to stay upright.

   The coffee shop was dead at this hour, with just a few groups dotted around the little tables. That was why those thoughts had crept back into his head when he was the least prepared for them. He had nothing to distract him.

   The room spun. The keys of the register were all he could focus on. He was going to pass out or throw up. He didn’t really understand what that blue button on the far left did. He deserved to be fired for it.

   His mind was reeling faster than he could keep up with. He had a lab class tomorrow morning and he hated them. He hated not understanding the things that sat right in front of him on those stark-white tables. He imagined one of the technicians rolling out a corpse on a stretcher, the blue tinge of its skin... it hadn’t happened yet but he knew that it would...

   He hadn’t been able to talk to Komaeda about his illness. The three of them sat in silence at the dinner table every night, and aside from the distinct awkwardness, it was almost like nothing had happened. He hadn’t mentioned it again, and Hinata had no idea how to bring it up. He knew, the same way that he knew he should have apologized to the customer, that it wasn’t the sort of thing you just let lie. He knew he had reacted badly – made it about him, like he always did. As soon as Komaeda had left the room he had realised it, and it pounded in his head until he couldn’t take it anymore.

   The bell above the front door tinkled and he slowly, slowly raised his head, spine creaking with the effort of it. His eyes widened and he thought he could hear the veins in his eyelids crack. “What are you doing here?”

   “I’d like a hot chocolate to go, please,” Nanami said, setting her bag on the counter and rifling through it for her purse. She looked cute today, Hinata’s bleary brain informed him. The hood of her jacket was still up over her head, the sewn-on cat ears drooping a little from the rain – his eyes travelled downwards and he realised that she was grinning for some reason. As soon as she retrieved the money, her eyes met his and she shot him a knowing look. A look that said, just play along.

   “A hot chocolate to go,” Hinata repeated to nobody in particular, but the one of the apron-clad people shuffling around behind him – he was too tired to even care who they were at this point – mumbled something and he took that as an affirmative. “What’s...” he wanted to say going on, but the barely-noticeable shake of her head deterred him. “What brings you in here today?”

   “Well, ah, _Hinata_ ,” she took a long, deliberate look at his nametag, “I was just passing by and I wondered if the cute barista I always see in here might want to come and have a nice home-cooked dinner with me when his shift is over?”

   He had planned to go to the library after work, or maybe the gym, but all thoughts of those were swept away instantly. Dinner. Nanami’s words sounded twisted, jumbled. Dinner? She had pulled on the drawstring of her hoodie, wrapping it thoughtfully around her finger when she said it. Yes, that sounded like a thing he wanted.

   “Home cooked, hmm?” He lost his balance and slumped against the register. Hopefully she didn’t notice that. “It’s over in twenty minutes,” he said, realising belatedly how infectious her smile was – it was more than he thought his facial muscles were even capable of by now. “Isn’t that convenient?”

   “Very convenient,” she agreed, dropping the coins on the counter, but he pushed them back towards her.

   “Don’t, it’s on the house.” When she reached for the money, he laid his hand over hers for a moment, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, marvelling at the texture. Just touching her seemed to anchor him. The coffee shop was – always was- nothing more than a hazy backdrop to the stress that seemed to mount with every second he spent there, but for a few seconds he felt it slow down, his heart rate level. When she laid her palms flat and shifted up on her toes to lean over and press a quick kiss to his lips, he was sure he felt it stop altogether.

   “You’ll give me a heart attack,” he said, and just like that everything fell out of focus again, and the takeaway cup was set down on the island counter with a papery thud that sounded like thunder to him, and he was sure she said something just before she left but his consciousness was gone again, his eyes open but his mind flat-lining.

   When he came back to himself, it was hard to tell if she had ever really been there at all.

   “Oi.” Some disgruntled-looking student had taken her place, satchel slung over his shoulder, jaw tight. “Can I get a latte or not?”

   “I can’t believe that girl just did that,” one of his co-workers said from behind him, and Hinata turned to find him shaking his head in wonder. “Hinata, let me work the register tomorrow, yeah?”

 

   Nanami appeared again just as he was emerging from the break room, his apron and nametag shed and his heart feeling considerably lighter for it. She had a shopping bag in each hand, but shifted them to free one, which she linked with his as they walked. The coffee shop was well within walking distance of the apartment, but it took long enough that it could be enjoyable, soothing even. It wasn’t yet dark, and Hinata couldn’t help but notice how miserable the shadow he cast on the pavement looked; shoulders slumped, god-awful posture. He could just imagine the lecture he would’ve gotten from his mother if she could see him like this.

   Sure, she had consented to him getting a damn lobotomy, but if his back wasn’t straight...

   He shuddered. Nanami glanced at him, concerned.

   She squeezed his hand. “How many days has it been this time?”

   “I don’t know,” he told her. They walked at the same pace, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he was moving at half-time, lagging behind reality. “Maybe I should sleep on the couch from now on. At least then I could watch TV all night, maybe it would help me...” his brain ran out of words, and he squinted at the pavement. “Help me... orient myself. Distract myself? I don’t know.”

   “Hmm.” He loved that sound. Her thinking sound. The knowledge that someone else’s brain was whirring away right next to him hit him like a ton of bricks every time she did that little hum in the back of her throat, and it felt amazing – grounding, and like solidarity, and... extremely dizzy. He blinked. That last one probably didn’t have anything to do with the noise. “I don’t know if I’d like to share a bed with Komaeda, though.”

   Hinata opened his mouth to say something about how Komaeda wasn’t that bad to share a bed with – he was a little cold, a little prone to waking up with a start for no reason at three in the morning, which had thoroughly terrified Hinata the first few times it happened – but then he remembered the other thing Komaeda had done, and firmly closed it. The idea of Nanami there in his place, sleeping through it, was somehow even worse. As ridiculous as it sounded in his burnt-out and barely-functioning brain, listening to Komaeda masturbate was a burden he would gladly carry.

   Nanami leaned forward to look, curiously, up at his face. “What are you thinking about?”

   “What?” He had just barely entertained the notion that that whole thing might’ve been for his benefit. The thought lingered around the edges of his consciousness whenever he found himself dwelling on it. It wasn’t even disturbing anymore. They had kissed since then. Komaeda had told him... Hinata shook his head, avoiding Nanami’s puzzled gaze. “Nothing. I’m not thinking about anything.”

   Nanami stopped in her tracks, and Hinata slowed to a halt a few paces ahead of her. His body felt completely out of his control now. It was just doing its own, dreary thing. “I’m vibrating,” she said, reaching into her pocket.

   Hinata turned away to politely examine a random car parked on the side of the road. The conversation seemed to be mostly neutral hums on Nanami’s part, with a few interjections of, “why?” and “well, why didn’t you tell me that before I left?” and “don’t worry about it, but this was your idea so I don’t know why you-”, and just then Hinata caught sight of himself in the driver’s side window and his focus was thoroughly shifted. As far as he could tell, the only difference between him and a literal zombie was that he still had all his limbs intact. But with that dull ache radiating through all of his muscles, he wasn’t sure how long that would last.

   He even forgot to put his tie on that morning. He had missed a button on his shirt and he deserved to be fired, though the apron had, mercifully, covered his mistake.

   Nanami slid her phone back into her pocket with a sigh.

   “You sounded like a stock broker.”

   “Mm, well, there’s a slight change of plans. We’ve got another forty-five minutes to entertain ourselves. How about the arcade?”

   It was clearly not a question, as before Hinata could respond; Nanami had him by the hand again, dragging him in the general direction of her favourite arcade, a couple of blocks away.

   “Komaeda doesn’t have someone over, does he?” Hinata pulled a face when he said it, and instantly wished he hadn’t. Not that Nanami was even looking at him. She had her sights set on those flickering neon lights of the grimy, sad little arcade. Hinata was pretty sure the only reason she liked it was because it was always deserted on weekdays.

   He couldn’t imagine Komaeda having anyone over. The idea of him rolling around in that bed with someone else was kind of... gross, anyway. At least he could trust Komaeda to be hygienic enough to wash the sheets afterwards. Thoroughly. Please.

   “No, he doesn’t have anyone over,” Nanami replied, as though the very notion was ridiculous. “It’s him.”

   Hinata frowned.“What’s him?”

   “No, I mean it’s him. When does he ever have people over?”

   Making fun of Komaeda’s lack of a sex life seemed oddly mean considering his situation – that his lifespan had recently been declared to be something you could tick off on a couple of calendars. Hinata didn’t have it in him to be angry on his roommate’s behalf, though. It seemed like a problem from another world, and now he was in this world; this much hazier, much slower-moving world. Komaeda and his dementia were very far away. He didn’t even feel sad to think about it anymore - just tired. “That’s harsh,” the decent part of him remarked, regardless.

   “No it isn’t. How often do we have people over?” Nanami laughed as they went in through the door, instantly taken in by the cacophony of 20 different 8-bit tracks coming from the machines. “We’re the most boring college students ever.”

   “You’re right.” Hinata nodded resolutely, trailing behind her towards one of the shooters. He leaned against the machine, and she lifted the controller out of its holster, lining the cursor up properly on the screen. “We should have people over.”

   The tinny gunfire started all too close to Hinata’s head. Nanami had her eyes narrowed, taking out soldiers or zombies or whatever it was with every click of the plastic trigger. Already, the two extremely bored looking attendants were leaning over the ticket exchange counter with interest. “Yes. We’ll have a dinner party.”

   Hinata frowned at the thought of trying to cram any assortment of their friends into the shoebox they called a living room. “We only have four chairs.”

   Nanami shrugged, pulled the trigger, and the attendants cheered. “Fine, a very small dinner party.”

   By the time forty-five minutes had passed, Nanami’s pockets were overflowing with tickets and her name was plastered across the high-score board of every single one of the arcade machines. Somehow, her presence had drawn a crowd in from the street, and as she hit her last high-score, there was an almighty cheer, and the stream of tickets oozed out onto the carpet. She turned around and bowed curtly, and Hinata did nothing, because it felt so unreal. This was what dreaming was supposed to be like. He broke the stream of tickets away from the machine and nudged them against Nanami’s hand.

   He simply stood there while she went to redeem them, the crowd mostly dissipating, one or two of them staying behind to swarm her with compliments and enquiries - was she really Nanami Chiaki, was she really the most talented gamer in the country? And was she aware that she’d recently destroyed the crowning champion of her competitive game or another, did she know? Well, Hinata rolled his eyes, of course she did. There was always a spring in her step after she dethroned someone.

   “And you’re her boyfriend, right?” One of them, a greasy kid no older than sixteen, clapped Hinata on the shoulder as if they’d known each other all their lives. Confused, he nodded. “You’re so damn lucky, dude. I wish my girl could game like that...”

   Nanami turned from the counter, beaming, her rosy-pink hair bouncing around her shoulders, a great big plush teddy bear clasped in her arms; and Hinata nodded. He was lucky - luckier than he really had any business being.

 

~*~

 

   As soon as Hinata pushed open the door he noticed that something smelled amazing. He set the grocery bags down on the floor – he had been landed with them, Nanami ambling along beside him with her giant teddy bear – and peeked around the pillar that blocked the view of the kitchenette. Sure enough, there was Komaeda, standing over the stove stirring a pot like he knew what he was doing. Hinata noticed that his hair was tied back in a little ponytail at the base of his neck.

   “Here’s your coconut milk,” said Nanami. She dumped her bear and rifled around in one of the shopping bags until she found the carton, presenting it to Komaeda with a little flourish. She said coconut milk like it was the most absurd thing in the world, and Hinata found himself laughing a little too hard. Either the lighting in here was bad or the room was looking very blurry today. He couldn’t tell.

   “Thank you very much, Nanami-san.” Komaeda popped the lid and poured a generous amount into the pot. It bubbled in a very concerning way. “Hi, Hinata-kun.” He greeted Hinata with a smile, his head tilted a little to the side, and something in Hinata’s chest twinged. He hadn’t looked this happy since before...

   No. Far away. Different world. A problem for a different Hinata, an alternate universe Hinata, god the room was shifting in and out of focus and it was starting to get distracting.

   He turned to Nanami, who was by now putting the rest of the groceries in the fridge while he stood there, uselessly, still on the other side of the pillar. “I can’t believe you’re making Komaeda cook for us.”

   “It’s not like that, exactly.” Nanami’s smile looked tight, and Hinata wondered why. He supposed she hadn’t specified a romantic dinner, but for once the mountain of coursework had been cleared off the table, and there were candles.

   Candles?

   Candles. He shook his head, not knowing what to make of that. “Are we actually having a dinner party?”

   “A dinner party for three,” Komaeda mused. “Would you set the table for me, please, Nanami-san?”

   Hinata held the pillar for support, watching the two of them work in silence. Nanami laid out three sets of plates, three sets of cutlery, three wine glasses. Wine glasses? Who the hell was having wine? But then she set down a glass bottle of apple juice, meeting Hinata’s eye as she did so. “We’re keeping it classy,” she said simply, and he nodded as if to say, of course.

   It was then that his thoroughly fogged brain registered that the chairs had been rearranged – instead of having two on each side, there was one at the head of the table, on the side farthest from the kitchen. It was a weird place to put it, wedged between the table and the couch. Vaguely, he wondered who would sit there.

   When Komaeda finally announced that the meal was ready, he discovered it was himself.

   With Nanami on his right, and Komaeda to his left, Hinata felt very, very awkward. Almost as if this entire situation had been set up to make him, specifically, feel awkward, specifically. Maybe it was a punishment from some hypothetical god. Or maybe it wasn’t bad enough to be a punishment – because it wasn’t bad. The conversation was light, and the food was much nicer than he’d expected for something that apparently had coconut milk in it, and Komaeda had left his hair in the ponytail. Hinata decided that he liked it quite a lot.

   As his plate got emptier and emptier, he noticed Nanami and Komaeda exchanging strange looks over the candles. Not competitive looks, but more... urging? Hinata took a long drink from his apple juice. He was sure that if he closed his eyes, he would fall face-first, asleep, against the table. But when he looked again, there they were, staring each other down as if trying to communicate without words. He tried to contain a chuckle. They didn’t seem to be very good at it.

   His heart rate was far too slow for him to be nervous, even though the logical part of his brain told him he should be. All he could think about was sleep. He wasn’t even sure that thinking was the accurate term for what was going on inside his head right now. It was just white noise.

   Eventually, Nanami cleared her throat. “Komaeda and I wanted to ask you something.”

   He looked at her in surprise, but her lips were tightly closed, gaze locked on Komaeda, who seemed to be actually squirming in his seat.

   “What?” Hinata pressed when Komaeda did nothing but stare at his plate. Even from the orange glow of the candles, he looked pale. Hinata looked to Nanami again. “What?” he repeated.

  “Do-” Komaeda hesitated, and Hinata felt Nanami’s leg sweep his own under the table, foot no doubt moving to nudge Komaeda’s. “Do you... know what polyamory is, Hinata-kun?”

   Hinata blinked at him. “Well I’ve met Sonia, Tanaka, and Souda, so yes.”

   Komaeda blinked back, as if he’d just answered in a foreign language.

   “I do know what that is,” Hinata said, just to clarify. They were both staring at him. He set his cutlery down self-consciously. “Yes.”

   “Okay.” Komaeda said it slowly, and Hinata wondered briefly if that was actually the end of the conversation. Once again, Nanami and Komaeda shared a glance over the candles.

   And then it hit him. He was sitting between them. At dinner. With candles.

   “Oh my God,” he said, and Komaeda flinched visibly. Hinata cringed. “Oh my god, I mean- no-!”

   Nanami raised her eyebrows. “No?”

   “No!” He was panicking now, the sugar from the apple juice kicking his thought process into high-gear. “Not ‘no’! Just...what’s going on?”

   Komaeda looked paralyzed; Hinata’s panic was probably infectious, and that just made it all worse-. “I just thought- Nanami-san said she thought it was a good idea. You and her could... and then you and I- we could-”

   He could hear Komaeda’s voice in his head, that night just after they kissed: “I’ll fix this. Don’t worry about anything.”

   “-Be together.” Nanami curtly finished his sentence for him. She didn’t look nearly as ruffled as he was sure he did himself. “If that’s what you want.”

   Komaeda took a shaky breath, tracing the rim of his wine glass with one fingertip. “I understand if you don’t want that, though. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to reject me, I’m nothing, I really-”

   Hinata felt for all the world like a man who had just had his best friend basically invite himself into a threesome. Vaguely, he wished that was an actual turn of phrase, because it was a very distinct feeling. Like the dull shock of being submerged in ice water, but not nearly as unpleasant.

   Hinata cut him off. “I’m not rejecting you.”

   Komaeda blinked, again, several times. “You’re not rejecting me,” he repeated in a mumble. He tilted his head to look Hinata in the eye, and Hinata nodded, trying to smile. His facial muscles had given up for real this time, and just twitched. “Really?”

   “I mean...” Hinata struggled to pull the words buzzing in his mind into an actual coherent sentence. He didn’t want to sound eager, but he had kissed Komaeda twice. It had been good. He kissed Nanami all the time and that was good, too. Nanami was the love of his life. Komaeda was dying.

   The guilt washed over him instantly. Why would he drag that up at a time like this?

   He wasn’t ready to think about it yet, so he let the words flow freely. “If Chiaki’s sure it’s okay, we could... try...?”

   Komaeda’s face broke into a grin, and Nanami smiled, too - and seeing that, all at once Hinata was rushed with relief and joy and fear and affection for the both of them and horrible, immense confusion as to where the hell this had come from, but he wasn’t complaining.

   “I don’t mind sharing you.” Nanami leaned over and pressed soft lips to his cheek, and something fluttered in his chest. Komaeda quickly copied her with the other cheek, and for a moment he thought he might actually explode. But he wasn’t complaining.

 


	4. Melatonin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _a hormone allowing the entrainment of the circadian rhythms of several biological functions._

   “Hinata,” Kuzuryuu announced, setting his drink down hard on the finely-crafted wooden table the three of them sat around. “I really mean this, from the bottom of my heart: You. Are. A. Bastard!”

   Kuzuryuu always picked the weirdest places to drink. This bar was apparently exclusive, but smoky, and so dark that Hinata could barely even see the people sitting next to him. There had been a little light provided by the candle that sat on the table, but Souda had blown it out the minute they sat down, insisting that it set the ‘wrong kind of mood’. Now the atmosphere just felt like they were planning a murder.

   “He’s a lucky bastard,” Souda interjected with a grin. When all eyes swivelled to him, he flushed and pushed his chair back with a screech, putting his hands up before his chest, palms-out. “Hey, I mean, I’m not saying I would, or anything, but Komaeda is better than, you know-”

   “Nothing?” Hinata supplied, a split second before Kuzuryuu said, “No-one?”

   “He’s not the worst you could get.” Souda hesitated for a moment. “Probably.”

   “You say that like I’m struggling to get anyone. Just because you don’t like Nanami doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist.”

   “It’s not me. Sonia’s the one who-”

   Kuzuryuu set his drink down suddenly. “Where is Sonia, anyway?” When Hinata looked to his left, he found him grinning from ear to ear.

   Souda rolled his eyes before focusing them on a barely-visible pillar on the other side of the room, glaring pointedly at it as though it had personally offended him. “It’s her alone night with Gundam tonight, ain’t it.”

   “When’s _your_ alone night with Gundam?” Kuzuryuu teased, shooting Souda a cool glance over the top of his glass.

   Souda scowled, but Hinata swore that just before the laugher broke out he heard the redhead murmur, “Wednesday,” which only spurred him on, until the tears leaked from his eyes, breath thoroughly squeezed from his lungs.

   It felt good to laugh after spending the last week drawn up tight, hardly able to speak in case he blurted out one of the too-many secrets he was keeping. He hadn’t said anything to anyone about Komaeda’s illness; he didn’t really know whether or not it was an actual secret, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you just announced out to your entire friendship group without permission.

   “I can’t take you guys anywhere, you know that?” he said, but lightly.

   “Well, whatever,” Kuzuryuu waved him off, sobering considerably. “Thanks for finally telling us.” He nudged Souda, who kept grinning that shark-like grin of his. “We were wondering why you hadn’t been around in a while. Guess you’ve been pretty busy, huh?”

   “No, we haven’t been _busy_ ,” Hinata said, trying to nonchalantly adjust the collar of his shirt. “It’s been like, five days. We have a... our first date. On Saturday. The three of us.”

   Pekoyama appeared between Kuzuryuu and Hinata, placing a new round of drinks on the table before gracefully lowering herself into her own seat. “Doesn’t this bring back memories, Souda?”

   Hinata had always liked Pekoyama. At first it had been a little uncomfortable, the way she seemed to follow Kuzuryuu around everywhere and hang onto his every word like he was dictating a new sacred scripture, but now he barely seemed to notice it anymore. She had her reasons, anyway, even if Hinata wasn’t exactly sure what they were.

   “Oi, _I_ never cheated on anybody.” Souda looked mortified, and Hinata couldn’t hold back a smile at the sight. “Don’t lump me in with this one.”

   Pekoyama dipped a finger into her drink – plain water – and examined the droplet carefully, squinting in the dim light. “No, but you understand how it feels to love two people at the same time.”

   “Easy,” Hinata interrupted, feeling nervous. “Just because I might think Komaeda is... attractive, it doesn’t mean I want to marry him or anything.”

   “Well,” Souda huffed. “That kind of relationship is complicated, anyway.”

   Kuzuryuu prodded his arm. “Is that why you hardly ever talk about it, Souda?”

   “Shut up!” Souda wailed, turning to Hinata for aid, and the laughter broke out again.

   When it calmed down, Hinata cleared his throat. “I guess I was hoping for some advice, since you’re here.”

   He stared at the ring of dried alcohol on the table before him. Souda and Kuzuryuu (and, by extension, Pekoyama) weren’t exactly his advice friends. Nanami was his advice friend. Komaeda was back-up, mostly because, although his advice was generally pretty bad and sounded like it was ripped straight from a Disney movie, he wasn’t very judgmental. “I mean, Souda, you’re the only one I know who’s... involved like this. How do you.... do it?”

   “Er.” Souda glanced nervously at Pekoyama, who was eyeing the group at the table to their right, paying no attention to him at all. “With the lady present?”

   “Not that!” Hinata frowned, much to Kuzuryuu’s amusement. “I just don’t really understand how it works, with three people. On a date. And... in general.”

   The last five days had been exceptional, in that almost nothing had changed. Nanami did sleep in the bed, but aside from Hinata having to shift over a couple of inches, it hadn’t been eventful. Nice, after that first night when he passed out from the exhaustion and woke up the following evening with Komaeda reading his book on one side and Nanami with her PSP on the other side, to have them there – but uneventful. It felt kind of like a long and extremely chaste sleepover, and once or twice he wondered if Nanami hadn’t agreed to that arrangement just so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore.

   “It’s really not that different.” Souda shrugged. Hinata thought he looked quite pleased to be the expert on the topic. “It’s just the jealousy you have to look out for. But even that can spice things up sometimes.”

   “I did not sign up for this fuckin’ conversation,” Kuzuryuu interjected, taking a sip from his glass, “about how spicy your relationship is.”

   “So that’s your advice,” Hinata said flatly. “’It’s complicated’ and ’it’s not that different.’”

   “Well, yeah! I mean, what else do you want? Favourite positions?” Souda seemed to actually consider it for a moment before Peko reached over and patted his forearm, shaking her head gently and mouthing something that looked an awful lot like, ‘please don’t.’. “Just don’t go makin’ it all weird. Go with it and you’ll figure it out.”

   “You’re the worst bastard I’ve ever met.” Kuzuryuu said happily, leaning forward, elbows on the table. As far as Hinata could tell, he was still reacting. “We shoulda seen this coming, you know?” he turned his attention to Pekoyama, who nodded in agreement. “Shoulda known that thing at the graduation party wasn’t just a one off.”

   Hinata turned to glare at Kuzuryuu so quickly he almost toppled his chair. “You saw that?”

   “Peko did. She sees everything.”

   Pekoyama played her finger along the rim of her glass. “Sorry, Hinata. I didn’t mean to intrude on such a private moment, but well, it was a rather public setting.”

   Souda pulled a face. “Do I even want to know what you did at the graduation party?”

   “No,” Pekoyama said, looking to Hinata for assurance that it was okay to joke about before allowing herself a small smile.

   Kuzuryuu studied the amber liquid in his own glass, apparently deep in thought. “And Nanami is just okay with it?”

   “She’s surprisingly okay with it,” Hinata confirmed.

   “Isn’t that like, the dream, though?” Souda mused, leaning all the way back in his chair, arms behind his head. “She’s got two guys now.”

   “I don’t really know if she does.” Hinata said, quietly, as though if it were a secret. “It seems to be mostly about, um.” He closed his eyes, embarrassment creeping through him. “Me.”

   Kuzuryuu shook his head in wonder. “Bastard.”

   Hinata shrugged. “They just sort of worked it out when I wasn’t there, I think,” he said. “Which is fine, but I just don’t... understand why. I don’t even think Komaeda likes women, and Nanami...” he trailed off with a grimace. “She barely even tolerates him.”

   “Maybe it was inevitable. The three of you living in that shoebox, together, close quarters...” Kuzuryuu trailed off, an eyebrow raised suggestively.

   Hinata looked him over; his perfectly-tailored suit, wallet full-to-bursting with bank notes where he’d left it on the table. Kuzuryuu already had his own house, and Hinata was sure he hadn’t earned a penny of what he’d used to pay for it. And here he was, talking about shoeboxes.

   “Sorry all of us aren’t in a position to inherit a fortune.”

   “That’s bullshit,” Souda said. “One of you literally did inherit a fortune.”

   “City apartments are expensive,” Hinata informed him, because Souda lived with a princess, so what did he know? “And it’s just such a high-pressure thing, I don’t know. Like now I have two people to potentially disappoint.”

   Hinata’s words came as a surprise to himself; he had spoken without thinking, and the words dissipated into the darkness, mingling with the murmurs of the other patrons, but not quickly enough that he could pretend nobody heard him. He tried to laugh it off, holding his glass awkwardly as if to say, look what this stuff did to me.

   Kuzuryuu and Souda exchanged a glance that Hinata couldn’t fathom the meaning behind, before Pekoyama pushed a new drink into his hand. “Oh, Hinata,” she sighed. “You’ll figure it out. Now drink up.” He liked it when the corners of her mouth twitched into that awkward little smile. It made the sword on her back look a lot less intimidating. “You’re a lot less fun when you’re sober.”

 

*

 

   Hinata woke on Saturday morning to the sound of somebody vomiting in the bathroom.

   Komaeda appeared in the doorway moments later, clutching his stomach and looking wrecked; his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips dry, the tip and underside of his nose red raw where he had undoubtedly been wiping at it all night. His voice sounded distinctly nasally when he mumbled, “I think I’m sick, Hinata-kun.”

   Hinata sat up against the headboard. To one side, Nanami was still dead asleep, curled up with half the bedcovers tangled around her. She stirred when Komaeda started to laugh. It seemed to echo off the walls; a raw, painful laugh that sounded like it was being ripped from a raw and painful throat.

   Hinata watched as Komaeda doubled over, arms wrapped around his midsection, shoulder shaking with hysterical laughter. “I’m- sick-” he wheezed in between waves. “Like that’s- a surprise!” He raised his head to grin at Hinata, and just as their eyes met Komaeda’s widened, alarmed, before he ran back into the bathroom.

   Hinata heard him retching again, seconds later. He prodded Nanami awake. She rolled over onto her back, arm thrown over her eyes to block the sunlight out. “Mm?”

   He stayed silent, letting her listen to the gruesome sounds coming from the bathroom. Once she shifted her arm to give him a puzzled look, he said, “I think we have to cancel our date.”

 

   As it turned out, Komaeda refused to let them cancel on his behalf. When he was sure his stomach contents were thoroughly emptied, he showered, dressed, drank some horrid-smelling hot lemon concoction, took some medicine, and then proceeded to cook breakfast for them, dutifully turning away from the stove whenever he needed to cough. “I wish I had one of those masks,” he said wistfully, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, frying pan sizzling dutifully beside him. “I would hate for you to get sick too, especially on such a beautiful day.”

   He gestured out of the window. The sky was cloudy and grey and Hinata sighed at it.

   The coughing and sneezing didn’t let up through the subway journey. They sat; the three of them with their thighs squashed close together, every compartment crammed with the flurry of Saturday morning passengers. The plan was to go into town, wander around, get some lunch, and maybe go to the movies; exactly what they did as platonic friends. It was low-pressure.

    Hinata was glad for it; Nanami was the only one who didn’t seem at all nervous. Sitting pressed against his side in her Legend of Zelda t-shirt and cat-ear hoodie, she was the one who had convinced him to forego the shirt and tie for a change. Komaeda kept casting looks at the plain black t-shirt he wore like it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

   They were spit out into the centre of the city. The streets themselves were invisible for the crowds of people, many with shopping bags and briefcases, but just as many like themselves; teenagers looking for something to do. For a moment, Hinata envisioned losing them to the masses; it would be so easy to turn away for a moment and find himself alone, and lost, and drowning in the sea of bustling people, too busy to help him.

   “Hinata?” Nanami nudged him gently, and he found that they were both staring at him. At some point he had stopped walking along with them, frozen in the crowd. “Are you coming?”

   Hinata blinked hard, several times. “Yeah, of course,” he said eventually, falling into step with them again. “Where are we going first?”

   “How about the arca-?”

   “Museum?” Komaeda said at the same time, then looked at Nanami, startled. “Arcade,” he corrected himself, as though that was what he had meant to say the first time. Nanami seemed satisfied with that.

   “You want to go to the museum?” Hinata teased him, falling a few steps behind Nanami, who was powering through the crowd in her effort to get to the arcade. The one around here was housed in a building with several floors, and much more populated than the local one; taking Nanami there was like taking her to wonderland.

   “Ah, I wouldn’t like to bore you,” Komaeda said, his head bowed, looking his own shoes as he walked. “But you would like the paintings; they’re so inspiring, and calming.” He looked up, inquisitively. “Maybe that’s not what people do on dates, though? This is my first one, so naturally I wouldn’t know.”

   “You’ve never been on a date?” Hinata asked, cringing at how rude it sounded. ‘Oh, you’ve never been on a date? Don’t you know you’re talking to Hajime Hinata, the king of dating, most romantically experienced college student on the face of the planet?’

   The idea of someone of Komaeda’s age having never dated did seem sad and kind of absurd to him, but Komaeda didn’t look fazed by it. Regardless, he hurriedly changed the subject before Komaeda could elaborate. “So you like art museums? Why don’t you have any art in the house?”

   “Well, I would like to,” Komaeda explained, deftly dodging an angry-looking woman who was practically dragging her two wailing children up the street by the wrists. “But nothing has really caught my eye yet.”

   Hinata hummed. The walls of Komaeda’s apartment were depressingly bare, stark white. “Maybe I could help you look sometime.”

   Komaeda smiled, as though the thought alone had brightened his mood. Then, he sneezed.

 

   The inside of the arcade was like a colossal, flashing maze. They had everything; vintage machines from the 80s with all the classics; air hockey, shooters, DDR. A child of about six years old was screaming out a solo on the Guitar Hero machine by the entrance, mashing the frets as if his life depended on it, and Komaeda stopped to watch, eyebrows raised, apparently impressed. Hinata didn’t have the heart to tell him the kid was just playing along with the demo.

   They found Nanami at a change machine, just as a mountain of coins spilled out the mouth of it into a plastic cup that she held carefully underneath. “I hope you don’t mind being here for a while,” she said seriously, before turning and making a beeline for the TRON machine.

   Hinata went to use the machine next, but Komaeda stopped him. “Let me,” he said brightly, feeding a crisp-looking bank note into the slot. “What’s your favourite arcade game, Hinata-kun?” The coins rattled into the cup.

   “Do you think they have Galaga?” Hinata mused, looking around. They did, but the machine was crowded with school-kids. “Or air hockey, maybe?”

   “Air hockey!” Komaeda looked delighted, practically dragging him over to the nearest free table. Hinata let him insert the coins, and deal with setting up the puck, since he was very slightly taller. Then the ding sound came and they were playing, shooting the puck at lightning speed across the court. Komaeda had surprisingly fast reflexes and Hinata was glad he had slept the previous night, as his usual sluggish reaction speed would have made it a struggle to keep up. In that moment, he sound of the puck clattering against the sides of the table was the most satisfying sound he’d ever heard, and as the minutes flew by it got harder and harder to focus on the game and not the adorable look of concentration etched on Komaeda’s face, his brows low, bottom lip bitten.

   Hinata landed a particularly forceful hit, and sent the puck spiralling, hitting one side and then the other and then-

   Komaeda yelped, clutching his hand to his chest, face screwed up with pain. The puck kept sliding around aimlessly, and Hinata sent his striker flying, startled by the sound.

   “Are you okay?” He almost knocked over a passing toddler in his effort to get to the other side of the table, stabs of guilt blossoming in his chest. Komaeda had the tip of his finger in his mouth like a child, eyes tightly shut. “It’s not broken, is it?” His heartbeat thundering drowned out all the screaming kids, the 8-bit tracks. “Komaeda, please don’t tell me I broke your finger-”

   “I’m alright,” Komaeda mumbled around it, finally cracking his eyes open to give Hinata his best shot at a reassuring smile. It didn’t work. “It’s not broken, it’s just – ah- it hit the nail.”

   Hinata winced. “Is it bleeding? Can you taste blood?”

   Komaeda withdrew his finger, the tip now wet and shiny, and Hinata almost fainted with relief. The skin was furiously red, but there was no blood. Komaeda examined it, and then flexed his hand a couple of times, apparently satisfied that it was uninjured. “See? It’s just fine. Thank you for the concern, Hinata-kun,” he added gratefully. He glanced at the timer on top of the machine. “We still have another two minutes left, if you want...?”

   Hinata’s enthusiasm for the game was thoroughly dead by now, but since Komaeda had paid, it would have been rude to refuse. “Yeah, okay. Where’s the-?”

   The puck had disappeared from the surface. Hinata walked around to his own side again, and was surprised to find it in his own goal.

   “That’s strange,” Komaeda said, both hands flat on the table, using it to balance himself on the balls of his feet so he could look. “I suppose I’m winning now, then!”

   Sure enough, the scoreboard read 1-0 to Komaeda. Hinata laid the puck back on the surface and hit it across, not really aiming for the goal so much as wherever Komaeda’s hand wasn’t. Komaeda struck back, and Hinata swerved to defend, only for the puck to slide right by him and effortlessly into the goal again. He looked up to find Komaeda watching with wide eyes.

   “Let’s not play this anymore,” the older boy said quickly, abandoning his striker and turning away from the table, attention already captured by something else even though there was still over a minute left on the timer. Hinata raised his eyebrows, but followed anyway, admitting defeat.

 

   The thing that had caught Komaeda’s attention was, apparently, Nanami. Fists already full of tickets, she was leaning against a wall, watching two young girls on the Dance Dance Revolution machine with vague interest.

   “Do you want to play a round with me, Nanami-san?” Komaeda asked as they approached. She smiled, but didn’t take her eyes off the girls. “Hinata could cheer us on from the sidelines!” He propped himself against the wall next to her, and Hinata followed suit on her other side. “Ah, but which one of us would he be cheering for? It is a competitive game, after all.”

   Komaeda seemed to be mostly talking to himself, but Hinata nodded along anyway. The girls on the machine were pre-teens, but surprisingly good. The way they were jumping around and out of breath made it clear that they were playing on a high difficulty, and not the easy mode that he himself had attempted the few times he’d been convinced to play before.

   “Nanami!”

   “Big bro Hinata!”

   He barely had time to turn around before Saionji’s arms were around his neck, her surprisingly heavy body tackling him from behind and clutching him in a vicious hug. She had gotten much, much stronger throughout their time at school together. Whenever she pounced him like this, Hinata found himself wishing she was still tiny and light like she was when they met. “You look awful,” she said, and Hinata was wounded for a moment before he realised she was talking to Komaeda, who only shrugged and then, as if to prove her right, broke into a coughing fit.

   In Saionji’s grasp he watched Koizumi appear in his periphery, walking so calmly in comparison over to Nanami to give her a warm hug and a cheerful hello, then nodding politely at Komaeda. He returned the greeting with a particularly nasty hack. “Hello, Koizumi-san, Saionji-san!” he said when he had composed himself. “Fancy seeing you here. How was your summer?”

   Finally releasing him, Saionji skipped over to Koizumi and threw her arm around the other girl’s shoulders. “Ooh, our summer was great, wasn’t it, Mahiru? We spent a lot of time together.” Saionji raised her head to flash a devilish grin at Hinata, and Koizumi averted her eyes, embarrassed. “In fact, we’re on a date right now! And it was going pretty well, until you losers interrupted us.”

   “Hiyoko...” Koizumi sounded vaguely annoyed.

   “We were too, actually,” Nanami piped up from where she was blindly tying her hair up, eyes focused towards the upper left as though she could somehow see what she was doing.

   “Oh, you were?” Saionji leaned over forward, bending to look right into Nanami’s eyes, which blinked placidly back at her. “And Komaeda’s third-wheeling?” Saionji frowned and looked to Komaeda with exaggerated sympathy. “That’s kind of sad.”

   “You know he isn’t,” Koizumi pulled her upright by the back of her shirt, out of Nanami’s space. “Don’t pretend just to be mean.”

   “Yeah, I know. Sonia told us everything,” she clarified, giving a Hinata a meaningful look. “You perverts! I wouldn’t have expected anything less from big bro Komaeda, though.” 

   Hinata’s eyes went to Komaeda as soon as she uttered his name, as did everyone else’s, and he instantly regretted following their lead. Komaeda looked nothing short of uncomfortable, openly staring at Saionji as though she’d just slapped him. “Haha...” he laughed weakly, turning to give Hinata a pleading look. “Um, if that’s what you think, Saionji-san!”

   “Komaeda and Nanami were going to have a game of DDR,” Hinata blurted, seeing the preteen girls abandon the machine out of the corner of his eye.

   Saionji looked to the machine. “So was I! Hey, big sis Nanami, who do you think would win? Gamer or dancer?”

   Nanami’s brow furrowed, and Hinata tensed. Next to him, Komaeda was struggling to hide his joy.

   “Well, I think Nanami usually plays more console games-” Koizumi interjected, clearly attempting to diffuse the situation. She was fiddling with her camera strap, the device weighing heavy around her neck.

   “It’s a game!” Saionji insisted, already halfway to the machine, walking backwards, motioning for Nanami to follow her. “This is an arcade, right, big sis Nanami? You should be good at everything here!” No matter how much Saionji might have grown, she still had her little-girl laugh. It grated on Hinata, making his jaw clench; especially when it was directed at Nanami.

   Komaeda folded his arms over his chest, looking very deep in thought. “You’re right, Saionji-san. It should be a fair competition, since it’s not your usual style of dance, is it?”

   Saionji looked sour at that, but slotted her money into the machine anyway, Nanami following close behind. Nanami picked the track. Saionji bumped it up to the highest difficulty, hitting the confirmation button before Nanami could do anything about it, and leaned back against the rail, bracing herself.

   The remaining three of them found themselves in a little semi-circle of an audience. The first beats of music started, and Hinata watched Nanami’s face grow dark in concentration, fists balled her sides. She didn’t like to lose.

   And somehow, because of that, this nerve-wracking date had turned into a Dance Dance Revolution tournament that he wasn’t even involved in.

   “Your girlfriend,” he said to Koizumi, just when the girls started to move; Nanami was precise, but Saionji was fast, and all he could hear was the furious clacking of their shoes on the platform, “is a demon.”

   “A monster,” Komaeda agreed. Hinata had almost forgotten he was even there; aside from the occasional sneeze, he had been watching with silent, rapt attention, entirely captivated.

   Hinata couldn’t tell who was winning; all he could see on the screen was a flurry of perfects. He had no idea someone as laid-back as Nanami was even capable of moving as quickly as the neon arrows that scrolled up the screen.

   Koizumi shook her head, dazed. “I know.”

   Finally, the music halted and there was a screech. “Haaa!” Saionji draped herself right over the railing, arms dangling, pouting at her small audience. “A tie means we have to play again, right? Right, big bro Hinata?”

   Nanami had already picked the next track. She looked thoroughly exhausted, and flushed; but determined. “Right,” Hinata agreed, and Koizumi groaned when the bubbly pop music roared from the speakers again.

 

   After spending the day navigating crowds in the streets, then packed in the subway, the apartment building felt cold and desolate. They traipsed up the stairs one after the other, Nanami holding the keys pre-emptively out in front of her. Hinata felt exhausted to the core; his muscles weary from walking, throat raw from conversation, eyes stinging from all the bright lights and activity they’d been taking in, the rush of the city relentlessly assaulting his senses. He would take a pill and sleep tonight. For once, he deserved it.

   At the door, they paused to unlock it, but just before Nanami pushed it open, Komaeda said, “wait.”

   Hinata looked to him, inquisitive. He had his hoodie sleeves down over his hands, shoulders drawn up with the cold. “Well, after a date, you’re supposed to walk someone home, right?” Komaeda pointed out thoughtfully. “And then you say thank you and kiss them in the doorway. Don’t you?”

   Hinata rolled his eyes. “You watch too many romantic comedies.”

   Komaeda smiled, and the beat of silence seemed to swallow Hinata whole. It had been a good day. He had spilled sauce all over himself at lunch and tripped over a loose slab on the pavement on the way home, but still, he was happy. It was just like the summer, relaxed and friendly, that long stretch of calm before the storm of the school year, of classes, of double shifts and bills to pay. Hinata’s thoughts went dead when Komaeda took a step closer to him.

   “Thank you for the date, Hinata-kun,” he said quietly. Hinata felt his pulse quicken as Komaeda leaned in, and then pressed a sweet, careful kiss to his lips. It barely lasted a second, not even long enough to leave that trace of mint behind, but when Komaeda pulled back, suddenly Hinata didn’t feel tired anymore.

   Nanami was still staring at the doorknob, her expression unreadable. “And you, Nanami-san. I had a wonderful time.” Komada turned to her apprehensively, hands returning to his pockets, and abruptly she turned, and, lifting herself up on her tip-toes with Komaeda’s shoulder as leverage, kissed him swiftly on the cheek.

   Hinata had only seen Komaeda blush once or twice, but when he did, it was spectacular; the pink tinge spread from his neck up to his cheeks immediately, and his fingers went to the spot where her lips had been, clearly startled. “Thank you,” he said under his breath, but by then Nanami had already pushed the door open and gone inside, leaving Hinata to politely avert his eyes and follow her inside, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

 

*

 

   The pill went down heavy that night, scraping his throat and making tears spring to his eyes as he swallowed the water back, draining the glass in several long gulps. Hinata exhaled sharply. He could hear the running tap water echoing around the tiles, the muffled television sounds from behind them.. It sounded like a thriller. Like a woman screaming.

   It wasn’t right. Something was stuck; he was sure if he touched a hand to his throat he would feel it, resting there, the protrusion of a horizontal thing in a pathway that had to be kept clear. The air was coming in and getting stuck. His lungs were tight.

   This was a near death experience.

   He knew the insomnia would kill him eventually, just not like this. Not while he was sitting, hunched over on the closed toilet seat, futilely grasping at his chest like it would do something. Dry inhale after dry inhale.

   He used to struggle with swallowing pills down. Those memories were hazy now; memories of when his body was safe and healthy and unmodified by anything in a capsule. After the surgery, he’d had a veritable cocktail of pills to take every day; at first in the clean-white medical room in the school, and then at home, every morning and night. Some for the pain, some to control the side-effects, some they called accelerators. Some he was sure were just sugar placebos to get him used to the routine of a medicated person. He swallowed them dutifully, day after day, did nothing else until they realised something was wrong.

   And then it was too late. They took him away and patched him up again, undoing whatever they had done, stealing away any chance of success. And they took him off the medications. And they put him back in his newly assigned class, with his new friends; friends he didn’t know as himself - his real, original self.

   He retched once, and then again, and then he was on his knees, toilet lid flung up, hugging the bowl. Thick acid burned his tongue and mouth, his insides convulsing outside of his control. He lay there like a ragdoll, helpless and vomiting. The television kept on blaring.

   “Ah. It’s good to see some life in your eyes, Kamukura-kun,” were the first words Komaeda had ever said to him. Hinata had heard that name and his throat felt choked with a thousand little pills. “I know you’ve changed, but that’s alright...”

   And then, all at once, he could breathe again.

   He had knocked the bottle from where it was resting, lid off, on the toilet tank. Now it was on its side, the capsules scattered all over the floor, some crushed to dust and gel under his knees and hands, the liquid smeared on him. He took in a shaky breath and tasted nothing but bitterness that made him want to puke all over again.

   He hated taking pills.

   He didn’t bother to clean them up.

 


	5. Night Terrors [i]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _feelings of great fear experienced on suddenly waking in the night._

   Hinata was familiar with this; the rhythm of the librarian snoozing behind the front desk, somebody turning pages at another table, the tap-tap of his own fingers on his laptop keyboard. Then, the squeak of his chair against the carpet as he pushed it back to stand, carrying his laptop over to the printers. Then, the screech of them, the shunting of the ink cartridge from side to side, the industrial sound of the paper being eased out, warm, into the tray. Just another piece of late-night research.

   It was a strange gut feeling, some flaw of psychology that made him feel calmer about the whole thing. As if the information existed more firmly if it was ink on paper, in a physical form, right there in his hands whenever he needed it. As if that black folder of printed-off web pages could anchor him somehow; he didn’t have to worry about anything if he knew enough about it. It was a logical fallacy and he was aware of it. The last thing that concerned him was ignorance, but still he collected the information, soothing himself with the sensitively worded but deeply impersonal advice of various government health services.

   He sat at one of the tables and slipped them into plastic pockets, back to back. Every page referred to dementia and the patient, referred to carers and loved ones. He smoothed the plastic out with trembling fingers. There was no doubt in his mind that Komaeda had already seen all of this, and probably more. He shuffled them into a neat pile, and then began clipping them into the folder, one by one. If anyone asked, this would be homework. This would be extra-credit.

   And if Komaeda happened to find it, well, this could be his way of showing support. Either that, or the other boy would take it as some horribly-intended reminder of his own mortality, and then Hinata would feel terrible. But he tried to push that possibility aside. He wasn’t doing this for anyone but himself - not really.

   Hinata placed the completed folder into his book bag, along with all the others, and got to his feet.

   At home, he slid the folder under the bed-frame, on the side that used to be his but now belonged to Nanami. Then, as an afterthought, he grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser and threw it under there too, draping it over the folder, making it invisible in the darkness.

 

*

 

   Nanami didn’t look like an angel when she slept. She drooled a little, although Hinata had no intention of telling her about that. She was the one who always wrapped the covers around herself like a straitjacket, or sprawled out so much when she was unconscious that once or twice he had woken to her hand over his face, or her entire body on top of his, a dead weight pressing on his lungs.

   Hinata still liked to watch her for a while before she woke. The rainy October morning hadn’t disturbed her. She lay on her back, both hands above her head, one leg hooked over Hinata’s waist as if to anchor them together in the night. Komaeda was out running errands. It was just the two of them, for once.

   Hinata brushed his knuckles over the soft skin of her cheek, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Good morning.”

   Nanami blinked a few times, focusing her eyes on his. She groaned slightly as she stretched, arching her back up, de-tangling her leg from him and then shifting closer into a better position, her head on his chest, his arm around her, one had lightly toying with the tips of her hair.

   “Where’s Komaeda?” she asked, eyes trained on the empty third of the bed.

   Hinata hummed. “He’s out. Should be for a while.”

   “Oh.” She smiled, tilting her head up to kiss his jaw, and then his lips. He responded slowly, deliberately; Nanami had never been one for anything frantic. She liked to take her time; dragging the moments out, not letting them pass until she was satisfied. His hands ghosted through her hair, and she moved over him, a leg on either side of his waist, hands on his shoulders.

   Hinata was used to stealing opportunities like this, now, whenever they were alone. Whether it was at home while Komaeda was out, or in the bathrooms of the university library, or once in the alley behind the coffee shop, although that attempt had been cut short by two stray cats starting a vicious fight nearby, scaring the living daylights out of both of them and pulling them thoroughly out of the mood.

   Nanami pulled back for a moment, looking him over. “Is that for my benefit? So we could say goodbye properly?”

   Hinata’s hands rested on her hips; they seemed to fit so perfectly there, the dip of her waist making just enough room. He chuckled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

 

   “I’ve been thinking about driving lessons.” 

   Hinata leaned against the side of the fridge. Nanami was sitting on the floor in front of the bookcase, legs crossed, head bowed. As their boxes had been unpacked, the shelves had become stacked with more and more video games, until only about half of Komaeda’s books remained. The rest of the games had been made into a neat tower, making it almost impossible to actually retrieve any of them without toppling the whole thing.

   She was deep in thought, running a finger over the spines, back and forth, her touch light and gentle as though pressing too hard would damage the hard plastic. It took several minutes for her to finally reply, peering up at him with interest for just a moment. “...Driving lessons, hmm?”

   He knocked one heel against the side of the fridge, over and over again, careful not to damage it. After paying the rent the previous day, he had found his bank account completely empty. Komaeda picked up the cost of groceries and even paid the internet bill, but the meagre pay from his part-time hours at the coffee shop just wasn’t enough.

   “I know they’re expensive, but I could pick up a second job,” he shrugged. “As a delivery driver or something, since they can work at night. It would pay for itself.” 

   She wiggled one of the cases out of the tightly-packed shelf, popping it open to check that the game was inside before slipping it into the tote bag in front of her. “You would have to buy a car.”

   He shrugged again, and looked away. “Yeah.”

   “Hey... what do you think-” she held two square, white cases up to him. “Dragon Quest or Castlevania?”

   “Dragon Quest.” Hinata picked it at random, and she put that in the bag, too. Earlier that morning he had watched her put her four handheld consoles in there, as well as all of the chargers. “Aren’t you supposed to be socialising while you’re there?”

   “I’ll be in my hotel room sometimes.” She had another two games now, looking from one to the other, deliberating. “And there’s the plane journey.”

   “Four consoles for one plane journey?”

   Now it was her turn to shrug. “I don’t want to get rusty.”

   She sighed to herself and put both games in the bag. It was about full to bursting; she got to her feet and tested the weight, apparently deeming it acceptable before slinging the strap over her shoulder.

   “If I had a car, I could drive you to the airport and you wouldn’t have to take a taxi,” Hinata said, ignoring the way Nanami rolled her eyes at him. “It would cost less.” She came over to kiss the tip of his nose, but he ducked out of the way, and pressed a kiss to hers instead. “And I could say goodbye to you at the gate.”

   “Mm... that’s sweet, but you know I don’t mind.” She turned and opened the fridge and looked the contents over, clearly puzzled. “Did you eat my lunch?”

   “Uh,” he moved to follow her gaze, peering in, but nothing seemed out of order. “Are you sure you didn’t eat it?”

   “No, I made it up last night and then I put it in the fridge so it...” she trailed off, eyes travelling upwards. Pushing herself up on her toes, she reached up and pulled a Tupperware box down from on top of the fridge; it was open. She stared at the contents; rice that looked rock-hard, some chicken and vegetables that were no doubt spoiled. “Did you take this out?”

   Hinata shook his head. He hadn’t touched the fridge at all since he made dinner the previous evening. “Are you sure you remembered to put it in?”

   “Of course I did.” Nanami shut the fridge, dumping the Tupperware box upside-down in the sink. “It’s fine. I’ll just... buy something at the airport.”

   A car horn blared from outside, and Nanami craned her neck to peer out of the window. “That’s for me,” she said, shooting the abandoned lunch one last, sad glance.

   Hinata helped her carry her bags down the stairs; there seemed to be far too many for just a three-day trip, but he figured that was mostly due to bringing along half of her gaming paraphernalia, her laptop, and all of her recording equipment. “Say hi to your fans for me,” he mused as she loaded her suitcase into the back of the taxi, slamming it closed heavily behind her.

   “I will.” She threw her arms around his neck, dragging him down to her level for a last, surprisingly passionate kiss. It felt extremely strange to be kissing her like that, right out on the street, but exhilarating; like something out of a movie where he was a soldier and she was his beloved, only in reality she was the one leaving, and only to a convention. “Do you want an autograph, before I go?”

   “That’s alright.” She released him, and he straightened up with the feeling of being watched. He glanced around and noticed child on the other side of the street staring at them, open-mouthed, his disinterested mother locked in conversation and ignoring him. It sent a rush of prickly, embarrassed heat through him. Nanami was already climbing into the back seat of the taxi. “I love you,” he said, bending down with one hand on the door, leaning inside to kiss her again because he knew she would enjoy the gesture.

   “I love you too,” she said, and his chest filled with that bubbly sort of joy it always did when she said that, and the next moment, the door was closed on him and the taxi was disappearing up the street, leaving him alone with that kid still staring at him in awe.

 

*

 

   Hinata had seriously overestimated how interesting his lectures would be. He had shown up on the first day, eager with a new pack of highlighters and several notebooks, all in muted colours, professional-looking. He hadn’t slept the previous night, but on that day he was still alert, diligently writing down everything he could.

   And now here he was, slumped down in his chair at the very back of the hall, and that bright and eager Hinata was ancient history, long dead and buried under a mountain of coursework. His notebook was closed, pens scattered all over the place. In his lap sat his phone, the focus of all his attention, a text conversation open with the little ‘...’ animation going on the bottom left corner.

   This class is so boring, was all Hinata had said. Komaeda was always a quick replier; the most reliable person to distract him from his lecturer’s droning voice, off on some long-winded tangent about adenine that Hinata couldn’t force himself to care about.

   The blue text bubble flashed up on the screen, and Hinata almost dropped his phone between his thighs in his hurry to respond. _Oh, poor Hinata-kun. Which class is it?_

    _Biochemistry_ , Hinata typed back quickly. It had become too easy to give into the temptation to do anything but listen, especially when he hadn’t slept in three days and knew from experience that he would retain none of this information anyway.

   It was only seconds before his screen lit up again. _Do you have the afternoon off today? Maybe we could meet for lunch?_

   Hinata blinked and typed out, _What, like a date?_ He looked the message over and quickly erased it, ducking down a little further in his seat so that nobody would notice his face heating up. What kind of person asked someone they were dating if a plan to have lunch together was a date or not?

_Okay. My class ends at 12:15. I’ll call you._

   The minutes dragged on, and Hinata entertained himself with doodling all over his notes from the previous class. He wasn’t much of an artist, but still he thought his absent-minded rendition of the Kibougamine Academy crest came out quite well. He shaded it lightly, and then began to scribble over the outline until it was nothing but lashings over lashings of ink.

   When the class was finally dismissed, Hinata slid his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. His legs were already weak and sore at the joints, protesting under the weight of it. He watched his classmates file out, clustering into their little groups and talking amongst each other while he left alone, unsteady on the stairs, praying nobody would notice him. They all seemed a world away, as though they were real and he was obscured in a thick haze, translucent, barely even existing on their plane.

   Caught up in his thoughts, even two steps outside the door he found himself bumping straight into someone. “Sorry-” he began, only to find himself being pulled against the other person’s chest, a blur of green fabric and white hair in his periphery, tickling his nose.

   “This building is a maze!” Komaeda said, slackening his grip when he realised that Hinata wasn’t responding. He raised an eyebrow, holding Hinata at arm’s length. “Why do you look so surprised?”

   “How did you even get in here?” Hinata glanced around the corridor, not entirely sure what he was expecting to find. A smashed-in window? A knocked-out security guard? “You’re really not supposed to come into the building, it’s...” He trailed off, uncertain. He wasn’t sure if it was actually illegal, or just frowned upon, but either way Komaeda didn’t seem to care.

   “Oh, don’t worry, it’s not that difficult to pass for a student,” Komaeda replied, leading Hinata off before he could protest anymore. They fell into step easily, and Hinata took the opportunity to look Komaeda over with more than a little scepticism. He wasn’t even carrying a satchel. He did, however, have coffee in a Styrofoam cup, which he offered to Hinata as soon as he caught the other boy looking at it.

   Hinata accepted it gratefully, and took a drink. It was a little cold, and far too sweet, but he tried not to let it show.

 

   “What about this one?”

   Drizzle dampened Hinata’s hair and seeped down the back of his shirt collar, leading trails of cold down his shoulder blades. Every few seconds somebody would bump against him, the bustle of the main street threatening to carry him away like the tide, down into the sinkhole of the nearby subway station where they all seemed to be headed.

   He and Komaeda stood before a white-clothed fold-out table. The older boy was carefully examining the pieces there, paint on canvas and protected from the elements with plastic wrap. Currently he was particularly enraptured by a picture of a white bird on a yellow background, sitting atop a rusted, open cage.

   “I like it,” Hinata said, pulling the plastic wrap taut to get a better look. He avoided the hopeful gaze of the salesperson, who looked a little worse for wear; of course, the moment Komaeda had noticed that he’d been over in an instant, excited by the prospect of buying some ‘real art’, and not at all bothered by the fact that they were running late for lunch. Beneath the slick of the plastic, Hinata could feel the gritty, dimpled texture of the paint, and see the mark of every brush stroke. “Where would you put it?”

   Komaeda clicked his tongue, swivelling his eyes skyward for a moment. “The bedroom, maybe? The walls are so plain in there.” Komaeda joined Hinata in rubbing one finger feather-light over the canvas, and there was no way the artist would let them away now that they had touched all over it. “And I’m sure it must bore you, Hinata-kun, to sleep in such a dull place.”

   Hinata didn’t bother to correct him with a reminder that he didn’t sleep that much at all. Within the week he would inevitably be sick of that painting, the same way he was sick of the lampshade and the dresser and that ridiculous curtain over the doorway, the images of them burned into his retinas from staring at them all night.

   And while he did go out of his way not to watch Komaeda while he slept, Hinata was surprised that he never got tired of it. Something about watching the other boy’s chest rise and fall, his muscles occasionally twitching along with a dream – it was soothing, but not quite enough to be soporific.

   And that peaceful state never did last for long, anyway.

   “Hinata-kun?” Komaeda repeated, his tone laced with concern. He had his hood pulled up over his head, wisps of unruly hair escaping from the sides, the front of his coat actually zipped for once. Hinata absent-mindedly rubbed a palm over his own forearm, clammy and bare, and shivered.

   He blinked, coming back to himself. The canvas reminded him of springtime; of daffodils and sunlight and ice tea, rich and pure and vivid even surrounded by grey, rainy weather and businesspeople who didn’t even have time to look twice at it. “Maybe you should get some new bed sheets to match,” he suggested, without really meaning it. He doubted Komaeda would care to redecorate the entire room for one painting.

   Komaeda beamed, calling over the salesperson with a wave and pulling his wallet from his coat pocket. “Maybe we should.”

 

   Lunch was pizza, since the relatively nice restaurant Hinata had originally intended for them to visit was far too crowded by the time they arrived (“I told you we had to get there before one,” he had said, disgruntled, and Komaeda only rolled his eyes and swung the plastic bag in his hand with a little more enthusiasm) – and beneath the talk of strangers and the clattering of metal utensils on metal tables, Komaeda told Hinata all about what he had been up to in his free time, as Hinata had made the grave mistake of asking about it.

   “Ah, I read a lot of books as well,” he shrugged, trying to dislodge a piece of shrivelled pepperoni from his slice. “I go on the, um, internet quite a lot.” He flashed an embarrassed smile, as though using the internet was an unusual activity, and Hinata choked back a laugh. “And I started watching a new documentary series. Maybe you would be interested in it! It’s very medical,” he said, as though there was a sliding scale from medical to not medical and the notion had Hinata grinning even though he knew it wasn’t funny. Sleep-deprivation made everything at least a little bit hilarious to him.

   “Oh?” he said through a mouthful of pizza. “What’s it about?”

   Komaeda set his slice down and clasped his hands meekly on the table. “Dementia.”

   “Oh.” Hinata tried to think of some response, but the word sat, bloated and weighty, at the forefront of his mind, the information refusing to digest. Here they were, in some cheap pizza joint, and this was where Komaeda had chosen to open up about his illness. “Did you... learn anything?”

   “Some things,” he said, and then backtracked with a frown, “Well, not really. I don’t think there’s that much to know about it. It’s just a process.”

   Hinata chewed thoughtfully. He had been doing his own research lately, but Komaeda didn’t need to know about that. “A process?”

   “Well, you know, it’s like a-”

   Before Komaeda could finish, there was a crash of metal on concrete and in the blink of an eye, Komaeda was gone from Hinata’s view.

   “Komaeda!” Hinata dismounted his chair in an instant. Komaeda’s chair lay sprawled out on its side, one leg detached and still rolling loudly across the floor. Komaeda was already getting to his feet, eyes closed in a pained wince, one hand rubbing over his hip where it had undoubtedly just slammed against the floor. “Are you okay? What-?”

   Hinata glanced around for help and noticed that the entire population of the restaurant was staring at them, some already half out of their seats, clearly unsure whether or not they should do something or simply look away to spare Komaeda’s dignity. But Hinata cringed with the realisation that it was far too late for that.

   “It just broke,” Komaeda explained shakily, gesturing unnecessarily to the wreckage beside him before attempting to brush himself off.

   Before Hinata could say anything, the manager was on them, apologizing hastily to Komaeda, asking over and over again if he was alright, if he needed an ambulance. Komaeda shook his head, still dazed, but at least, Hinata thought, he seemed too shocked to care about the attention.

   “I promise you, this has never happened before at our establishment,” the manager insisted, gesturing for a stray employee to replace the fallen chair and steering Komaeda towards the podium near the front door. “Please, let me make it up to you – the meal’s on us, of course, and, ah- would you like some discounts for the future?” Before Komaeda could refuse the manager had grabbed a handful of coupons and presented them without flair. Komaeda only stared at them.

   “Thanks,” Hinata said, taking the coupons instead. All the stares were making Komaeda twitchy, as if he’d suddenly noticed them, and Hinata wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, even if it meant leaving the pizza behind.

   The manager shook her head, ignoring Hinata completely and directing her response to Komaeda instead. “No, no, thank you for being so gracious. I really have no idea why-”

   “I’m not going to sue you,” Komaeda said, much more cheerfully than he looked. “You don’t have to do all this. It was my fault, anyway, so please don’t trouble yourself for me.”

   The manager raised her eyebrows. “Well! I didn’t mean to imply-”

   “It’s fine,” Hinata interjected, and then added, “Thanks,” before pulling Komaeda out the door and into the street. Thanks for having the worst-built chairs in the universe. “That could’ve been really bad,” he said, folding the coupons up and placing them in his bag - unless the place delivered, he was sure he would never use them. “Can’t you go anywhere without getting hurt?”

   He meant it as a joke, but Komaeda looked somber and he regretted it, slipping his hand into Komaeda’s as an attempt at a silent apology. Komaeda walked a little stiffly, but nothing seemed broken. Hinata tried not to imagine what would have happened if the bone had shattered, or if it was Komaeda’s head that had hit the ground.

   “I don’t mind,” Komaeda eventually responded, tilting his head to give Hinata a reassuring smile. “As long as it’s just me, I don’t mind.”

 


	6. Night Terrors [ii]

   “Hinata, for God’s sake!”

   The voice was distant, delayed in hitting his senses. He registered the words one syllable at a time, as though the fluid in his brain was too thick and impenetrable for them to make it all at once. He could feel a dull, prickly pain spreading from his torso; wet like blood, but it couldn’t be.

   Hinata raised his head, looking past the furious co-worker and out at the shop. The small line of customers were all staring at him like he didn’t belong there; but behind the counter, in his apron, he was sure that he did. The wetness kept spreading, carrying searing heat with it. “Where did he go?”

   “What the hell are you talking about?” The co-worker snapped, his gaze somewhere around Hinata’s feet. He gestured for Hinata to get out of the way, but he couldn’t move; his feet felt rooted to the ground, his mind locked in some other train of thought. “Did you really have to pull this shit when it’s just the two of us? Really?”

   “He was there just a second ago.” Hinata could hear the panic in his own voice, and it scared him even more than the pain. “The man in the suit, you didn’t- you didn’t see him?”

   “I’m so sorry about this,” the co-worker said, turning to the customers for a moment before lowering his voice, focusing on Hinata again. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but either go change or help me clean this up, would you?”

   “Change?” Hinata repeated dumbly. A finger jabbed at his stomach and he looked down to find himself covered in coffee, splashed liberally over his apron and dripping south. At his feet were the remains of a smashed mug that he didn’t remember holding. “I dropped it?”

   “You dropped it.” The co-worker pushed him lightly in the direction of the staff toilets. He didn’t need more prompting; already he could feel his skin beginning to blister and crack. He sensed the eyes of everyone on him – and why wouldn’t they stare? He made a mess of himself. He destroyed a mug and wasted ingredients. He deserved to be fired.

   But it wasn’t his fault that Komaeda had another nightmare the previous night, and turned to Hinata for comfort again, and kissed him until the sun came up. It wasn’t Hinata’s fault that the sleeping pill bottle had disappeared, leaving him without relief for those last couple of hours before he had to leave. And it wasn’t Hinata’s fault that he had gone to the gym at five and stayed there until his shift began at seven, and then forgotten to eat breakfast, because his schedule was destroyed and his body numb to hunger pains.

   It wasn’t his fault that he was tired. It was only his fault that he couldn’t control himself when he felt like this; so disconnected from his body that he could lose his grip on a mug of coffee just because he thought he saw a face he hadn’t been confronted in a long time. He screwed his eyes shut in annoyance. Soon he would have his placement, and what would he drop then? Thermometers? Urine samples? Babies?

   He ducked into the bathroom and turned on the cold water tap. Gingerly he peeled the apron from his body and then unbuttoned his shirt- his pulse raced with the fear that it would stick, melded to his skin, but it didn’t. He shrugged it off easily and turned to examine himself in the mirror, bracing himself for a gory sight.

   The skin was inflamed, but far from destroyed. The blisters must have been a product of his imagination; he didn’t trust his senses anymore, the pain didn’t feel so bad until it was pointed out, and he couldn’t remember if that was a normal bodily reaction. He pulled the skin taut, wincing at the pain, digging his fingernails in. He was a medical student. A medical student.

   No longer caring about dirtying the rest of his clothes, he scooped water in his cupped hands and let it trickle over the burn. The thought of going home early already had him reeling. Thought of walking home in a coffee-stained shirt, of missing out on his pay for the rest of the day, all played out in his head, every shameful step and inevitable looks from passers-by like a movie he was watching in first-person. He teased one fingertip over the angry skin and flinched. Even drenched in cold water it still smarted, warm and sensitive.

   He dressed, leaving the apron draped over the sink. Somebody else could clean it up, he didn’t care anymore – he went to the locker room to get his coat, and then left through the front door, head bowed, hoping nobody would recognise him as the idiot who just spilled coffee all over himself.

   “Oi, Hinata!” his co-worker called from behind the counter, but Hinata just kept on walking. “You can’t just- hey!”

   At home, he stood in the kitchenette, shirt abandoned over the back of the sofa, cling film ready and waiting on the countertop. He held the beginning against his side, keeping it in place with one hand while using the other to wrap it around himself, tight but not painful.

   Out of the corner of his eye he saw Komaeda peek out from behind the curtain. Hinata had been fortunate enough to come home during the nap Komaeda took in the late morning – at least, he thought he had.

   The older boy was smiling at the ridiculous sight before him. “What are you doing?”

   “Treating a burn.” Hinata exhaled shakily. The plastic wrap was slippery but it still caused enough friction to hurt when his unsteady hands jerked. The trembling was his muscles’ way of protesting, of saying, we need rest.

   Komaeda looked him over. “Oh, I see. Of course you are. That’s just like you, Hinata-kun, you’re the type of person who takes initiative,” he added happily. He took a few steps forward, only to walk right past Hinata and pick his shirt up, opening it up and examining the stain. “Although I can’t imagine who would be foolish enough to spill coffee on you!”

   Hinata grit his teeth. He couldn’t tell if his hands were really shaking that badly or if he was already starting to see double. “Did you throw my sleeping pills out?”

   Komaeda put the shirt back on the counter, and started up the coffee maker. Just about the last thing Hinata felt like drinking was coffee, but it was too sweet of a gesture for him to protest. “No, why would I do that?”

   “What about Chiaki’s lunch? Did you take it out of the fridge the other day?”

   Komaeda bit his lip, looking at the fridge as though expecting it to speak up and defend him. “I might have done that.”

   Hinata paused his work to glare at him. “You didn’t even eat it.”

   “Well, it had broccoli in it, and I don’t like broccoli.” Komaeda said it so nonchalantly that Hinata wanted to laugh. “Why? Did she notice?”

   “Of course she noticed - it really inconvenienced her.” Hinata tore the cellophane raggedly, smoothing the edge down and considering whether or not it would be stupid to put tape on to hold it in place. “Why would you even do that?”

   “Because I’m selfish and inconsiderate,” Komaeda hummed, opening the cupboard and taking out a mug. Hinata narrowed his eyes, unsure of whether or not it would be appropriate to protest that statement, but Komaeda cut him off. “Anyway, you must be tired – maybe we should nap together? Since we have the house to ourselves and everything, and I’m lucky enough to have you home with me today.”

   The words came out too fast and Hinata couldn’t tell if his mind had been responsible for jumbling them or not. Komaeda smiled hopefully, and Hinata shrugged, eyeing the coursework littering the dining table. All of his was completed and stored away neatly at that, but it didn’t hurt to study. He wasn’t sure if Komaeda would be offended if he took a textbook to bed, though.

   “I sleep much better in the daylight hours, so maybe it would help you as well?” Komaeda offered, pouring the coffee out and presenting the mug to Hinata. Hinata just stared at the liquid, swirling it a little and willing his brain to function so he could think up some answer. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, he had so much to do; he had to look for second job, he had to finish that required reading and look up driving instructors and get new sleeping pills and his vision swam until Komaeda’s hands were on his shoulders, the cold on his bare skin jolting him back to life, holding him steady.

   “Just sleep.” Komaeda ran a hand through his hair, brushing his scars, and Hinata could feel every bone on those bony fingers, sharpness where there should be none. “Don’t worry about anything.”

   Chuckles were spilling from Hinata’s lips before he could help them. This was it; he was delirious and he had lost it. Komaeda smiled along, leading him to the bedroom and babbling something about a book he’d read and something about melatonin, Hinata didn’t know, he didn’t care. He laughed because Komaeda’s advice was as sweet as it was absurd. He laughed because he wished it was that easy.

  

*

 

   The ceiling looked surprisingly interesting in the middle of the night. The shifting moon and clouds outside the window cast all their separate shadows; sometimes a car would drive by and a shard of the headlights would illuminate the room, moving like a lighthouse beam until it was gone and the room seemed even darker than before. Hinata watched it on the nights when he was too tired to study; with his hands clasped beneath his head, staring straight up like he was stargazing.

   He only stopped when Komaeda started to grow fitful beside him.

   Komaeda woke up in the night like everyone else, sometimes, but it seemed it be getting more frequent; he’d get restless, curling in on himself and making unintelligible sounds somewhere between speech and whimpers until he would eventually wake up with a start, sitting bolt upright and clutching at his forehead. Hinata had the decency to look away at that point; the illusion of privacy, he stared at the wall and listened to Komaeda’s ragged breathing until it calmed down, and he relaxed, and went back to sleep.

   Komaeda never said anything, so Hinata never said anything.

   “Y-you,” Komaeda mumbled. Hinata glanced over, but the other boy’s eyes were still closed, fists clenched tight around the blankets.

   Nanami would be landed now, probably already in her hotel room. He considered calling her, hoping against all logic that the soothing sound of her voice would put him to sleep, give him some rest before school and work the next day, and then the next day, school and work and school and work-

   “Ah!”

   Komaeda yelped, sitting up, hands going straight to his forehead, fingers digging into his hair. It was too late for Hinata to pretend he hadn’t noticed; he had jumped when Komaeda did, startled the sudden movement, and as soon as it occurred to him to feign sleep, Komaeda’s eyes were on him, pupils blown from the darkness.

   “Are you... okay?” Hinata asked slowly, easing himself into a sitting position.

   “It was a nightmare.” Komaeda slumped back against the headboard, face in his hands. His chest still rose and fell with those frantic, shallow breaths. “It was just a nightmare,” he repeated, seemingly for his own benefit more than Hinata’s.

   “Do you want to put the light on?” Hinata suggested, fumbling for the switch for the lamp on his bedside table, but Komaeda shook his head.

   “No, it’s fine, I don’t need the light.”

   The silence lay tense, punctuated only by Komaeda’s shuddering breaths. One of those cars drove by, casting the light inside, the room bright for seconds before it was gone and the darkness settled again.

   “You have them a lot.” Hinata smoothed the blankets over his knees, avoiding eye contact, but he felt Komaeda tense beside him. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I’ve had some pretty weird dreams too...” He laughed under his breath in an attempt to break the tension, but Komaeda didn’t even crack a smile.

   “It’s not important.” Komaeda shook his head. “It’s easier to sleep after I take my mind off it, you know? I just want some fresh air, I think.”

   Hinata expected him to get up and head for the door, but instead Komaeda stood up on the bed. Hinata only stared up at him, bewildered as he opened the double windows and hoisted one leg up onto the sill. Komaeda caught his look and quirked his head to one side, clearly amused. “The outside ledge is big enough to sit on, Hinata-kun, please don’t give me that look.”

   “Big enough for two people?” Hinata wasn’t convinced, but when he stood up on the pillows he found that Komaeda was right – the ledge was surprisingly wide, surrounded by brick walls on three sides as the window was indented into the building. Although it wasn’t guarded by any kind of railing, it looked safe enough.

   Komaeda settled himself against the wall, already gazing out at the view. Hinata joined him, trying to block out the instincts screaming at him not to climb out of a fourth-story window as he carefully lowered himself into a sitting position. The ledge was sturdy enough, and he fit just fine with his legs pulled in.

   The previous occupants had left a half-full ashtray out here as well as, for some reason, a hairbrush and a mouldy-looking, folded-up hoodie. It was strange to know that he wasn’t the first person to sit up here – to think that several people had, and he would never know why, or who they were, or what they had talked about.

   “So.” Hinata followed Komaeda’s gaze, searching for something to make conversation with. They didn’t live in the most exciting part of the city, but he could still see the skyscrapers in the distance, and the rooftops of some of the smaller buildings over the street. It felt surreal somehow, like he was so much closer to the sky, just by being on the other side of a pane of glass. “Um, how’s your hip?”

   Komaeda hadn’t shown any sign of pain after the fall, but Hinata didn’t entirely trust him to be honest about it. In response, he shifted his hips and rolled up his shirt, exposing the skin now blossoming with an impressive violet bruise. “It doesn’t hurt that much,” he pressed his chin to his chest to look down at it, “but it looks bad, doesn’t it?”

   “It really does.” It was so typical that a place with such flimsy seating would have such hard and unforgiving concrete floors. Hinata sighed. “Really bad, actually. Do you think we should go to the hospital?”

   Komaeda shook his head immediately, not entertaining the notion for a moment. Hinata resolved to drop the issue, and stared out over the buildings again.

   Komaeda cleared his throat. “Do you remember being in the hospital, Hinata-kun?”

   The question took Hinata by surprise. He glanced at Komaeda to find him staring straight ahead, knees pulled up to his chest, shoulders drawn in.

   Hinata didn’t often think about his time in the hospital, because there wasn’t much to remember. What little he had retained was a white, clinical blur of anonymous doctors, visitors, exercises, tests, people staring at him, prodding him, examining him. It was like a piece of his life had been cut out, a gap in the timeline where those months should have been. “I remember some things.”

   “Then you remember what it’s like to have your head cut open,” Komaeda said matter-of-factly. Hinata nodded, uncomprehending. “The way people swarm you because something’s damaged in there and you can’t do anything on your own. They did that with you, too, didn’t they?”

   Komaeda’s gaze was fixed on somewhere a few centimetres above Hinata’s eyes, the scars making the answer so obvious that it was pointless for him to even ask. 

   Komaeda pulled his knees underneath him and leaned forward, raised his hand towards Hinata’s forehead, but then hesitated, l looking to him for approval. He nodded, and Komaeda let his fingers drift over the scars there, slow and careful. They weren’t sensitive anymore, but it still sent an unpleasant shudder through him to have them touched.

   Hinata tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It felt strange to have Komaeda touch him where no one else did; even Nanami avoided them. It didn’t offend him. He was used to examining them in the mirror, pulling the skin taut to see better. He was more than aware of how they looked.

   “Twice.”

   Komaeda’s touch ghosted over the first incision, trembling. It went the whole length of Hinata’s forehead, all the way around the sides, like a jagged halo. Then he moved up slightly to the second one, running parallel but much neater.

   Komaeda smiled faintly. He removed his hand and ran his fingers through own his hair, wrapping them around the front section, holding it up so Hinata could see the scar that ran along his hairline, from one ear to the other. “Twice for me, too.” He let the front go and turned his head to the side, parting the hair to show another, much fainter scar, a straight line this time.

   Hinata cupped Komaeda’s face with one hand, curiously touching the older scar lightly with his fingertips. Komaeda’s skin was cold to match the the chill in the air, and he didn’t flinch; but that scar was over a decade old, Hinata knew, and the nerves were undoubtedly back to normal now. “At least no-one can see yours.”

   “Why?” Komaeda teased, facing Hinata again. They had gotten close. Even in the dim lighting Hinata could see every one of the white lashes that framed Komaeda’s eyes, heavy-lidded with sleep and contentment. He couldn’t bring himself to move his hand away. “Are they that bad?”

   “No.” Hinata brushed his thumb over the hairline scar, barely faded, raised like something underneath was pushing against the skin. “Not at all.”

   Komaeda’s mouth found his in the darkness, and Hinata felt himself being pulled closer by the collar, tentative fingers smoothing out the fabric and then wandering over his shoulder, resting on the back of his neck. It was like a flashback to the first time, at that stupid graduation party – that same overwhelming knowledge that anyone could look over and see them, but this time it was dark and quiet and all Hinata could hear was Komaeda’s stuttering breaths and the approving little noises he made in the back of his throat when Hinata bit down gently on his bottom lip. Komaeda’s kisses were clumsy, his obvious inexperience masked with urgency.

   “Slow down,” Hinata mumbled against his lips. It was past midnight, he knew, but he could hear the clacking of heels on the pavement far below. “I’m not going anywhere.”

   Komaeda rubbed his thumb over Hinata’s pulse point and pulled back to give him a tired smile. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

   “Yeah, well, you look like you’re about to fall asleep on me,” Hinata pointed out, gesturing for Komaeda to climb back through the window. He did, and Hinata followed, closing it firmly behind him. When he lowered himself down onto the bed, he found Komaeda already burrowed under the covers and comfortable, but his features had become serious while Hinata wasn’t looking. Worry twisted in his gut.

   “Hinata-kun, I-” Komaeda cut himself off and bit his lip – a spike of pride ran through Hinata when he realised it was the same place his own teeth had been, just minutes before. “I have to explain something. About today.”

   Hinata blinked, and tried to choke down the panic that question was already stirring up in him, rising in his throat. “What is it?”

   Something buzzed, and then again, the sound of hard plastic rattling against wood. Hinata looked to his left to find that sure enough, his phone was lit up and vibrating on the beside table, Nanami’s picture across the screen. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it, shifting himself to sit up and reaching for it at the same time. “I really have to answer this.”

   Komaeda waved him off, shrugging in a way that suggested it didn’t bother him, but he still looked troubled.

   Hinata swallowed to ease the dryness in his mouth, and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

   Nanami’s voice greeted him. “I really miss you.”

   He tilted his head back, closing his eyes and listening carefully as she told him about her flight. He imagined her in her hotel room, starfished out on the bed with her feet dangling off the end, phone to her ear. She told him all about how they’d had some turbulence and the girl next to her threw up everywhere, and how the in-flight meal had been something she didn’t usually like but it turned out to be nice, and how the hotel was flooded with cosplayers and someone in the lobby had recognized her and really, truly, unironically asked for a picture and now she had a picture with someone dressed as Pyramid Head where she was supposed to be the focal point.

   He clung onto every word. It had only been a day and he already missed her; even with Komaeda to distract him, hearing her voice yanked him right back into how he’d felt watching her drive away in her taxi that morning.

   She sent him the picture with the cosplayer and he grinned, quickly setting it to his phone wallpaper before she was speaking to him again.

   “I have to go,” she said with a yawn, and his heart sank. It would only be early evening where she was, but he couldn’t imagine the jet lag she would be dealing with over the next few days. “Goodnight, Hajime.”

   “I love you,” he said. He heard a mumble to his right, and glanced over to find that Komaeda had fallen asleep, lips parted, face buried half under the covers, as tranquil as Hinata had ever seen him.

   He heard a happy sigh on the other end of the line. “I love you. Goodnight.”

   The line went dead and he set the phone down. Experimentally, he shifted his weight on the bed, but Komaeda didn’t stir.

   Heart racing, Hinata eased himself closer until he could feel Komaeda’s cold aura on his skin; moved himself down until his forehead was pressed against Komaeda’s, and entwined his fingers with the older boy’s limp ones, and hoped that somehow, his contact and presence would keep Komaeda safe from whatever dreams kept waking him with that fear Hinata knew so well.

 


	7. Adenosine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _a medicine which is used in diagnosing or treating abnormal heart rhythms._

Nanami prodded at the angry, red stain across Hinata’s stomach. “…This was from a drink?”

He grit his teeth. “Yes.”

“That you were serving to humans?” She withdrew her hands, dipping two fingers into the pot of cream on the coffee table and scooping out a generous amount. She held the skin taught, ignoring his gasp of pain, and smoothed it over the burn. He shivered with the sting of it.

“Well you’re not supposed to drink it straight away,” he huffed, looking way as she kept slathering the cream over him, uncomfortably exposed with his shirt unbuttoned and parted. “Maybe I made it too hot. I don’t know. I was tired. I think…”

He trailed off, reading her face, trying to mimic how calm she was. She seemed entirely focused on treating the burn, perhaps not even listening to him. He took a deep breath, his abdomen swelling with it, aching. “I think I was hallucinating.”

“Hallucinating?” she mused, toneless. For a moment she paused her movements, and he waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t.

Hinata nodded. “I thought I saw…” He swallowed. “He’s still in jail, isn’t he? He didn’t get released, or- or escape, or something?”

He was more than aware that the notion was ridiculous, but somehow just saying it relieved the weight he’d been carrying around for days.

“I think we’d be the first to know if he had.” She went in for another dollop of the cream. His whole abdomen smothered in white, Hinata was sure she was using a little too much, but he kept quiet. “…And if he had, what would he be doing at your work? Escaped fugitives don’t go around buying coffee like it’s nothing.”

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “He could’ve been looking for me.”

“He wasn’t. You were just tired.” She wiped her hand off on his chest, and then leaned in to quickly kiss him on the mouth. “Hallucinating.”

 

*

 

“Hello guys, I’m Chiaki and we’re back with episode three of Castle Crashers. Joining me as usual is the Super High School Level Boyfriend, Hajime. Say hi, Hajime!”

“Hi guys,” Hinata said into the microphone, leaning forwards automatically before Nanami stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. She shot him a reassuring smile, and he nodded, tightening his grip on the controller in his hands.

A couple of weeks ago she’d convinced him to guest-star in some of her videos, and while Hinata had been reluctant at first, three videos in he felt much more at ease. The cute and casual game Nanami had selected for them helped a lot, though. Hinata tapped the A button, watching his character jump around on the screen while Nanami finished her introduction.

Nanami seemed to become a different person in front of the microphone. She carried a conversation better than he’d ever seen her, and although she did need to take breaks for concentration, she was getting better every day at keeping the flow of her commentary. He supposed it was the perfect job for her. All she did was play video games while talking about them. Her already-established fan base lapped it up, and she gained hundreds of subscribers by the day.

Admittedly, he was a little jealous.

He let himself slip into the rhythm of her commentary, and soon the conversation was flowing as naturally as it did off-camera. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice Komaeda wandering into the room until the older boy was right behind him, leaning over with his forearms on the back of the couch.

“Hinata-kun, have you seen the toolbox anywhere?”

Nanami shushed him. “We’re recording.”

“But do you know where it is? It’s important.”

“It’s fine,” she replied to the apology Komaeda hadn’t given. “I’ll edit it out. And it’s under the sink where it always is, I think.”

“Thanks,” he chirped, idling behind the sofa for only a moment longer. Hinata’s coordination stuttered with the feeling of being watched, and his character took several hits that he knew were easily avoidable. He couldn’t see Komaeda’s face, but he was sure he must be holding back laughter.

Nanami’s fingers were a little forceful on the buttons of her controller, and Hinata could hear her mashing away as Komaeda drifted over to the kitchenette. The toolbox rattled as he lifted it out, and then let it fall to the floor, heavy as it was. Beside him, Nanami winced. Komaeda slammed the cupboard door shut and got to his feet, and Hinata looked away from the screen to watch him struggle to lift the box, grimacing until he finally managed it and ambled off into the bedroom.

“Anyway,” Nanami said, as soon as he was gone. “Um, where were we? Hm.”

From the bedroom came a resounding crack, and Hinata almost dropped his controller with the shock of it. He turned to Nanami with concern, only to find her completely rigid, staring straight ahead at the screen and completely ignoring the sound. “They took the princess again,” she said, moving slightly closer to the microphone. “So now we’re on this stage, which is Hajime’s absolute favourite one. Right, Hajime?”

Another crack came, and then another. Nanami was obviously trying to solider on, but after the fifth crack, she very gently set the controller down on the table and paused the game. “I think you should make sure he isn’t tearing the wall down,” she said, but Hinata heard the undertone of, I think you should go and tell him to shut up.

Hinata obeyed, leaving his controller beside hers. Tentatively pushing the curtain aside, he found Komaeda examining the wall, a hammer in one hand and picture hooks scattered all over the floor. Propped up against the headboard of the bed was the picture of the bird, which had been under the bed, still in its bag, for the last several weeks, as none of them had been able to find the motivation to actually hang it.

“What do you think, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda said, taking a step back. There was more pride in his voice than from just his handiwork. “Is this a good place for it? The sunlight hits this spot in the mornings, so I think it’ll look nice here.”

“No,” Hinata said shortly, even though he really didn’t care where the painting was.

“No? Ah, well I’ll just have to put another picture hook in wherever you think is-”

Hinata groaned, slumping back against the wall, patience already exhausted. This wasn’t the first time Komaeda had done this sort of thing; far from it. Hinata was yet to figure out what exactly his motivation was; every time, Komaeda just made some vague comment and refused to elaborate. “Please don’t.” He eased the hammer from Komaeda’s loose fingers, setting it down on top of the dresser. “Can’t you just read a book or something?”

Komaeda frowned, taking a step closer. The look in his eyes was unreadable; somewhere between thoughtful and curious and dejected. Hinata found himself backed up against the dresser. All that resounded in his head was the knowledge that Nanami was right on the other side of that flimsy, useless little curtain.

“I’ve been trying so hard to get you alone, Hinata-kun, but you’ve been so busy.” The words came barely above a whisper. Hinata took in a deep breath as Komaeda’s hands circled his waist, and the older boy tilted his chin down to look up at Hinata from beneath his eyelashes, and Hinata cursed himself for making it so damn obvious what that gesture did to him.

“W-well,” Hinata stammered, trying and failing to regain his composure. Komaeda was so close now, he could feel the other boy’s hipbones pressing just centimetres above his own, and where did he learn how to be so seductive?

Before Hinata could track the movement, one of Komaeda’s hands moved to his crotch, grinding the palm against the zipper of his jeans. “I really want this,” Komaeda said, pressing their foreheads together, withholding the kiss Hinata was sure would be inevitable. “Don’t you?”

“Um.” Hinata could feel himself heating up, getting flustered like some blushing schoolgirl, but he couldn’t help it. With all his might, he tried to keep his voice level and quiet, but to him it sounded loud and clumsy and shrill. “Right now? Nanami is-”

“I know she is. Isn’t this what you like?”

Hinata reeled back, finally summoning the strength to push Komaeda away by the shoulders. The other boy stumbled, catching his balance just before toppling right onto the bed. Hinata’s mind spun, and for a moment he caught himself wondering if that was a hallucination, some sick paranoia creeping up on him.“Who told you that?” he asked, and the words spilled out breathless.

“Nobody told me. Why, do you tell people?” Komaeda teased, lowering himself to sit on the bed. Hinata noticed with a twinge of embarrassment that Komaeda’s trousers looked a whole lot tighter around the crotch than they did earlier.

“No! It’s-” he grasped for some justification, but nothing came. Either Komaeda was a mind reader, or other people were mind readers and they had been gossiping. Hinata wasn’t sure which was worse. “Komaeda, this isn’t funny.”

His throat ached with the effort of trying to keep his voice to a whisper even though he wanted to shout. He was too exhausted to be angry, but he wasn’t in the mood for Komaeda’s evasiveness.

“Don’t freak out.” Komaeda’s eyes widened, and he reached for Hinata’s hand. He sounded so concerned that Hinata let himself be pulled gently down onto the bed, let Komaeda pose his body just right so that he could lean on his elbows above the older boy. “I really didn’t think it would scare you so much. I just wanted to know what would please you… maybe you shoulder clear your browser history more often?”

Hinata could only hover there, surprised by the lack of judgment in Komaeda’s tone. “I honestly don’t want to know what you found,” he replied after vainly trying to remember, but his memory was as foggy as always. “But thanks, I guess.”

He felt his own mouth curve into a smile, and Komaeda mimicked him. Gingerly he lowered himself down to press their lips together, a silent ‘and thank you for not hating me’. It was sweet, and lasted only a moment before Komaeda’s hips were jerking roughly up against his, a clear invitation. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

“I have to get back to work,” he said, getting to his feet again. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Komaeda, propped up on his elbows with his legs parted and his face flushed, gaze heavy with disappointment. It was then that he registered that the television noises from the other room had halted at some point, replaced with resounding silence. “But,” he cringed, “While you have the toolbox out, maybe you should go and get a door. I think Nanami heard, uh, pretty much that entire conversation.”

 

*

 

It had been too long. From that first announcement, the weeks had slipped by with no mention of Komaeda’s illness; thoughts of it raged on in Hinata’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Komaeda tried to bring it up once, once, and the opportunity had disappeared too fast for any real discussion. All because of that flimsy chair.

He had fun with Komaeda; even though he was pretty sure he’d been Komaeda’s closest friend at school, they’d barely spent any time alone together. Their class tended to move as a unit, and even his little group included enough people that there was almost always more than one person with him at any given event. In the last few days he’d discovered a lot of the other boy’s little mannerisms, private things that he never would have seen otherwise. Like how Komaeda tended to sing in the shower, too quiet for Hinata to hear the words over the rushing water, and the way he happily pointed out every single dog they passed on the street, and the fact that he checked in with Hinata before blasting the absurd pop music he liked to clean to, just in case Hinata had intended on falling asleep.

No matter how close they’d gotten, that tension still hung in the air whenever there was a beat of silence between them; like Komaeda wanted to talk and Hinata wanted to listen, but there was no good starting point. There was no way to just come out with it.

But there was one thing Hinata hadn’t noticed, which was that when Komaeda cleaned, he was extremely thorough. So when Hinata came home from class to find him perched on the edge of the bed, black folder opened in his lap and face contorted with an emotion Hinata couldn’t read, it shocked him so badly that he considered just running right back out the front door and never, ever returning to the apartment.

Komaeda didn’t look up when he came in, but his eyes were still, clearly not focused on reading the words anymore.

“I’m sorry,” was all Hinata could think to say, dropping his book bag at his feet and hesitantly approaching the other boy without any clue what he was going to do when he reached him. Hug him? Cry with him? Allowing Komaeda to punch him was the only fitting thing he could think of; not appealing, but appropriate. He deserved it for being careless.

“What is this?” Komaeda lifted the pages and let them fall like a flipbook, patients and carers and end-of-life and loved ones all flickering by in a split-second. “A research project?”

“I just wanted to learn more about-” Hinata swallowed hard, struggling to find words soft enough; words unlike the blunt dementia, the clinical illness. “-about what’s going to happen to you. I’m sorry.”

Komaeda closed the folder and solemnly shifted it into Hinata’s lap, still staring at it, refusing to meet Hinata’s eyes. “I could have told you whatever it is you’d like to know.”

Hinata didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. He ran guilty fingers down the spine, over the ridges and the creases of the over. “I didn’t think you’d want to. I understand...” he trailed off. “Well, no, I don’t understand how you feel, but I know it’s hard.”

“You haven’t even... mentioned it, or...” Komaeda shook his head. “I just assumed it didn’t interest you.”

The words hit Hinata like a spear to the stomach. Komaeda must have been blind not to see how much the diagnosis had been eating away at him, the knowledge that one of the most important people in his life was going to die before he was even twenty-five. He’d have to be made of stone for that not to interest him.

“Komaeda, for god’s sake, I’m your boyfriend.” Komaeda wouldn’t look at him. Setting the folder aside, Hinata lowered himself to the floor. He settled in front of Komaeda and rested his forearms on the other boy’s knees to look up at him, hoping the change of perspective would make the other boy more comfortable, as if he were a wild animal or something. “How could you even think- and even before, when we were just friends-” Hinata reached up to push Komaeda’s hair away from where it was hiding his eyes. He really didn’t know what he was doing. He just wanted to be close. “You think I don’t care?”

Komaeda’s head was bowed, fingers lacing and unlacing in his lap, nails sliding over the skin and leaving red lines in their wake. Hinata was the one who hadn’t said anything. Komaeda had at least tried, and he couldn’t blame him for jumping to conclusions like that, not really. Especially not when he knew the way the older boy’s mind worked, his twisted logic when it came to his own self worth. Hinata sighed.

“To be honest, I was just hoping it would all go away somehow,” he admitted, looking to Komaeda for a reaction but finding none. “But it doesn’t seem like the kind of situation where we should just sit around and ignore it, you know?”

“If that’s what you think, then we can talk.” Hinata watched as Komaeda nodded slowly, clearly deep in thought, collecting his next words. “A lot of things are going to change about me, Hinata-kun. They probably already have.” He paused, flexing his hands and then gathering them into fists against the bed sheets. “It was selfish of me not to warn you, of course. It’s the mark of a worthless person, not to know what the right course of action is, like you do. Don’t you agree?”

Not even a minute into the discussion and he was already trying to change the subject. Hinata frowned. “I haven’t noticed anything different about you.”

“It takes time.” Komaeda leaned backwards a little, patting the sheets beside him. Hinata got the message and moved to sit there again, figuring Komaeda needed the space to think.

“Then shouldn’t we maybe be taking this time to do things that you want? Maybe... travel or a little, or start new things.” He thought of Disneyland, or the Greek islands, and all the great libraries and art museums of the world that Komaeda would never get to see. He thought of forests and cities and night classes and spas. On Komaeda’s budget, they could go anywhere. “Isn’t there anything special you want to do?”

“It’s okay.” Komaeda rested his elbows on his knees, cupping his face in his hands.“I’m already doing exactly what I want to.”

“Really?” Hinata looked around. He couldn’t think what Komaeda was referring to; as far as Hinata knew, he didn’t actually do anything. He cleaned the apartment and bought groceries. Sometimes he’d amble down to the bookstore by himself, go on the internet, watch TV. “I mean, are you sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble for anyone,” he added firmly, knowing the direction Komaeda’s thoughts would wander.

“Absolutely. Is there any greater hope I could observe in the world than I already have? I’m happy to live with Nanami-san, and you,” his voice filled with reverence, “Super High School Level H-”

Hinata’s throat filled with acid. There it was again. The scars on his forehead seemed to twinge whenever he said that, a reminder of what he had been, but simply wasn’t anymore.

“Don’t call me that.” He didn’t mean to snap, and went rigid when he saw the hurt look on Komaeda’s face. “I mean, we’re not in school anymore. You’ve said that before, right?”

Komaeda’s shoulders tensed and he looked down, considering his shoes. “Hm. Well, that may be the case, but it still matters to me. My life is already as good as it can be for someone so insignificant. I’m happy to be with you, and to have my friends. That’s all.”

“So you aren’t... sad?”

“Sad?” Komaeda sounded like he wanted to laugh. “Why would I be sad? Do you really think I would succumb to sadness at a time like this? No, the world will be fine without another piece of trash around, polluting the place. It’s no loss. I know that.”

“It’s alright if you are,” Hinata said tentatively. He was on the verge of regurgitating one of the many paragraphs of advice he’d found online, until it occurred to him that Komaeda had already read it from the folder. “There’s nothing wrong with grieving.”

“Well, I’m not grieving. That would be ridiculous.”

“But are you scared?”

From the way the older boy’s breath caught in his throat at the word, Hinata knew he had hit his mark. He didn’t push; he let one hand wander to toy with the frayed edges of the blanket, close to Komaeda’s leg, a subtle invitation to be held. But Komaeda made no move to touch him.

“You said you wanted to know what my nightmares were about.” He moved backwards, pulling his heels up against the bed so he could hug his knees to his chest. He looked so small all folded up like that, elbows jutting out obscenely beneath the skin, almost as white as the shirt he wore. “They’re always the same. Being in the hospital and having surgeons try to cut me open while I’m still awake. Pumping poison into my veins and saying it’s going to help me. Being... naked and by myself, locked up in a ward, dying without anyone around, not even my...” he tried to laugh, but it came out as ragged inhales, weak and raspy, “-parents. Not even in my dreams.”

“That’s not funny,” Hinata said. And then, “I’m sorry.”

“People starve to death in care homes all the time. In hospitals.”

“I know.”

“It’s what I deserve.” Komaeda took in a shuddering breath and Hinata’s heart lurched with it. “But I don’t want to be by myself anymore.”

“You aren’t.”

“Did your parents visit you in the hospital? Did anyone?”

“No.”

“Then you understand. Except you were getting better, and I’m only getting worse.”

“Komaeda, don’t,” Hinata protested weakly, getting to his feet and letting the folder clatter to the floor. “Stop talking about yourself like that.”

“Like what?” Komaeda looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Do you mean realistically?” Hinata shook his head, even though he knew Komaeda was right. He took a few steps backwards, the room spinning around him, it had been days since he’d last slept and his broken and weary brain couldn’t cope with this.

Komaeda’s words rung in his head, cruel and mocking long after the boy had closed his mouth and fixed Hinata with a pleading stare. Hinata was an escapist. He was. He couldn’t escape from anything but he still tried, and no matter how much he tried to fix it he was still weak at heart.

And then Komaeda spoke again, shattering any illusion of control Hinata might have thought he had.

“How are you going to be a doctor if you can’t even stomach this, Hinata-kun?”

“You think this is the same?” Hinata had somehow ended up in the doorway, but he paused there, taking in the sight of the sickly boy on the bed in front of him. “Do you seriously think I would be anything like this if you were just some patient? Jesus Christ, Komaeda, you’re-” 

Words danced on his tongue. Special. Important. Scaring me. The open air behind him was calling out, so inviting, the front door was still unlocked and he could leave, he could just leave…

He swallowed. “You’re right. I’m being a baby about this.”

“Well.” Komaeda’s gaze skirted the floorboards, but there was a the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. “I don’t think you’re being a baby, Hinata-kun.”

“I think I disagree with you, Komaeda-kun.”

Komaeda laughed weakly, getting to his feet and approaching Hinata in a few strides. Without warning the older boy’s arms were around his waist, holding him close, and after a moment of shock Hinata hugged back with all the affection he could muster, the fabric of Komaeda’s jacket scratchy where he’d buried his face in the other boy’s shoulder. Whatever else he’d planned on saying died on his tongue, and all he could do was hold Komaeda close and silently pledge to be there, no matter how terrifying may be.

 

 


	8. Paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _the loss of the ability to move (and sometimes to feel anything) in part or most of the body._

   He felt it as a twinge in his stomach when he woke up.

   And he did wake up. The darkness still heavy and thick around him, his eyes cracked open from what must have been sleep. He settled back against his pillow and let out a sigh.

   He supposed it was like a sixth sense. The way hunters observed animal tracks, the way prey could sense a nearby predator, and this was his body’s way of telling him the monster in his chest was going to make its presence known soon. Not why, or where, or when; just the pulse of anxiety that he recognised as a confirmation that it was going to happen and there was no stopping it.

   He stared up at the ceiling. Already he was feeling restless, the way he always did when he found himself in bed and awake. No matter how tired he got, he never understood how people could just _lie_ there under their covers, stretching and rolling aimlessly around, presumably having a good root around in their thoughts before finally dragging themselves out to face the day.

   So far, he’d found that the major disadvantage of sharing a bed with two people is that it was near impossible to get up without disturbing them. Climbing over Nanami was usually his best bet. He eased himself into a sitting position, giving them both a preliminary check before making his move.

   As always, Nanami was sleeping like the dead; although this time she had managed to settle herself lying precariously at the very edge of the mattress. Komaeda lay curled up, facing the wall, one hand gripping the bedcovers as if to anchor himself to them. Neither of them were touching him at all. Hinata supposed that was a small blessing.

   Awkwardly, he managed to detangle himself from the sheets, sitting on his pillow and then contorting himself so that he could remove his legs from underneath the covers and settle himself on top of them. From there it was easy to climb over Nanami, careful not to touch her, placing his limbs carefully as though he was playing Twister. It was a ridiculous endeavour, but he was just about used to it.

   Safely out of the bed, he checked the time. Four in the morning. Of course.

   The doctor had left him with stronger tablets and the suggestion that he keep a sleep diary. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was sleeping patterns and not the rising of the sun and the moon that had inspired timekeeping and the day/night cycle. Even when he watched the days end and begin with his own eyes, his Skype contacts logging out one by one on his laptop screen, the sun rising outside the window, the birds singing on his walk to class - with no sleep, the lines between days blurred. The disorientation might have been worse than the constant aching of his muscles, or his complete inability to concentrate. He had never really ranked the symptoms. For the most part, it was easier not to think about it too much.

   He scribbled an entry into the notebook. Two pills, four hours sleep, no dreams. The nerves still fluttered there as he stumbled to the shower, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror.

   The last few weeks of term had been sliding by in a haze of essays and paperwork and long hours ticking by in the library. Hinata listened to audio recordings of lectures during his commute every day, wrote formulae on the back of his hand to burn them into his brain with every table he wiped down at work. Panic was in the air during every minute he spent on campus. The dining room table was overflowing with scribbled-over drawings, destroyed remnants of Nanami's portfolio, months worth of work left to the last minute as always.

   The library was becoming like a second home to Hinata by the time his first semester was drawing to a close. As used to freezing up and blanking during exams as he was, the only viable solution was to study twice as hard. If he couldn’t describe cell division in his sleep, if he couldn’t name every bone in the human body without effort then there was no way he would be able to pass. The standards at school had been high, but at university they were even higher.

 

   On days where he didn’t spend his entire break trying to nap on the couch, he browsed job listings. As it turned out, driving lessons were more of an investment than he could afford, but there were other options. Other night shifts. He circled newspaper ads, clicked lazily through websites. There had to be something, easy money for work that could be done half-asleep and sore.

   If the insomnia was going to kill him, he reasoned, he might as well make some money off it. It would be rude to die with overdue rent.

 

*

  

   It was starting to get cold out, now. No longer could Hinata delay buying himself a coat, unable to do anything more than cringe when he put his card into the reader and, moments later, held the receipt in his hands. It only took a few workdays before it reeked of coffee just as much as the rest of him.

   He sat swaddled in it, out on the window-ledge with the collar pulled right up over his cheeks. Sometimes he caught himself wishing Komaeda had never showed him this; with every time he came out here, it became harder and harder to leave. It was so tempting to stay there forever and do nothing but watch the people walking by on the street below, like goldfish in a bowl, soothing and repetitive.

   Between his fingers, he held a piece of paper that fluttered in the slight breeze. One half of his birthday present.

    Komaeda had presented it to him with a flourish that seemed more than a little extreme for what it was; flimsy and brightly coloured. A lottery ticket. “Happy birthday,” Komaeda said, and Hinata only stared blankly at it as his boyfriend leaned in, kissed his cheek, and then turned away to continue loading clothes into the washing machine.

   It was the most romantic of settings; the Laundromat, with its obnoxious pastel-coloured plastic chairs lined up along the walls, the rows and rows of washers and dryers. Hinata had taken to accompanying Komaeda on his trips here, half because he liked the routine and half because his boyfriend going out alone was starting to make him anxious. It hadn’t gotten to the point where he _needed_ supervision – far from it – but Hinata still hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about not being allowed to live alone. Sooner or later, his independence would begin to wane. It would be easier in the long run to get used to it, to accept that yes, they would do these things together from now on, so that when the time came when it was a requirement, it wouldn’t feel like one at all.

   “The draw is on Sunday,” Komaeda said at Hinata’s silence, not looking up from his task. “So don’t forget about it, alright? It could be your lucky day.”

   Hinata turned the ticket over in his hands. “You think it’s going to win.” It was a statement, not a question. Hinata didn’t know the _exact_ odds of winning the lottery, but he was sure if was somewhere in the one-in-a-million range.

   “Well, if I did it once…” Komaeda trailed off with a smile as he straightened up, his hair in even more disarray than usual.

   But that wasn’t all. Hinata had returned from class the next day to an empty apartment. He wandered around, perplexed, even going to far as to peek underneath the bed and behind the shower curtain. It wasn’t that Komaeda never went outside, but he usually let someone know where he had gone. Apparently it was a good habit to keep.

   He’d been so busy checking the cupboards under the sink and in the linen cupboard that he didn’t even notice the folded-up note on his pillow. He stood in the doorway and started at it. Komaeda sent text messages. He left post-it notes or messed around with the magnets on the fridge. But this was A4 paper, on the _pillow_ , somewhere you only left things for people to find later – especially in Hinata’s case, since he didn’t even use his bed every night. His pulse quickened, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

   He approached the note cautiously, as though it might take off and fly away from him or something. He unfolded it with trembling fingers, scanning the familiar handwriting hastily, breathing out, reading it again, slowly. Then he read it again. But it still didn’t make sense.

   He put the note back where it was and sat down on the bed. It made sense in that he could _read_ it, he knew what was being said, but that was about as much as he could comprehend.

   Komaeda would be gone for a few days. That was as specific as it got, and if it didn’t explicitly state that he would be returning, Hinata would have called the police right there and then. To make up for being away on Hinata’s birthday, he had booked and paid for a hotel room in the city, encouraging he and Nanami to take a semi-vacation over winter break while they could, since it would be over by the time Komaeda got back.

   It was a nice gesture, but it would’ve been nicer to hear it face-to-face. Hinata flopped back on the mattress, arms splayed out at his sides, trying to think of where Komaeda would feel the need to go on such short notice. He had no family to visit for the holidays. No job that would pull him away on business trips. Maybe he had a secret double life – a wife and two kids in the countryside, and she had been getting short with him, wondering why he’d been away in the city all the time...

   Okay, so that scenario was a little out there, considering Komaeda was a nineteen year old virgin, but you just never knew with some people.

   In reality, Hinata could think of only one plausible reason why someone would have to leave home for a couple of days. He’d been there – his appendectomy in middle school, his unplanned hospital stay, the lingering dread of having to explain to people where he’d been, why he’d been gone.

   He didn’t blame Komaeda for not wanting to talk about it. Hinata hadn’t proven himself to be the best confidant, and some things were just private, he supposed. He swallowed his unease, and resolved that he would go to the hotel, and he would have an excellent time, and when Komaeda got back he would be respectful and supportive and oh-so-thankful.

 

*

 

   The restaurant was crowded. Being New Year’s Eve, Hinata had expected nothing less than hordes of people wandering around the city in packs, all dressed up to the nines and slightly tipsy even though it was only eight in the evening. The place was full of the chatter of excited people; families, clusters of businessmen, groups of women with too much jewellery between them. Luckily for him, his friends weren’t the type who struggled to make themselves heard.

   He had showed up to hugs and strange looks, and he found himself repeating over and over again that Komaeda hadn’t been able to make it because of an _emergency_ , because of _personal_ reasons but yes, he was fine, their relationship was fine. He caught their concerned glances anyway. It really wasn’t like Komaeda to pass up a chance to see his old classmates. Even after knowing them for years, their presence was clearly intoxicating to him, especially when they were all together like they were tonight.

   All through dinner, Hinata toyed with the edge of the tablecloth, unable to focus on anything else. Vaguely he was aware of the people on either side of him, holding separate conversations that he just couldn’t seem to latch onto; Nanami deep in discussion with Ibuki about her recent European tour, and Souda on his other side, talking to anyone who would listen about some robotics breakthrough that nobody else had heard about yet.

   The lighting was dim, stylishly orange-tinted in a way that only made him drowsy.

   Being out with this crowd was strange. He didn’t see his friends a lot post-graduation, but when he did it was always like this; some upscale restaurant or club, passersby staring at whichever face was most familiar from the media. Nanami was almost unrecognisable tonight, looking more than uncomfortable in a black cocktail dress, her hair tied up with a ribbon. Not that her fanbase tended to frequent places like this, anyway. It was a small blessing.

   Hinata himself wasn’t famous. Obviously he wasn’t famous. If he was famous, he wouldn’t be constantly begging his boss for extra hours of meagre pay at a coffee shop, and he wouldn’t be constantly scrounging off Komaeda in order to maintain enough money to actually pay his share of the rent. He considered himself to be more like a small part in a very important machine, perhaps a fan belt or something. Everyone knew he was there, but as an individual, he wasn’t all that exciting.

   When people stared at him, it was mostly to take in the scars on his forehead. A sharp glance, maybe a double take, and then the novelty was gone.

   After what felt like several hundred hours, someone finally asked for the bill. Nanami excused herself to the bathroom, Tsumiki following suit after throwing a couple of notes down on the table. Hinata pulled his wallet from his coat pocket, and when he looked up again, several of his friends were staring at him. 

   “Oh, no,” Souda stilled his hand, and Hinata gave him a puzzled look. “Don’t worry about it, man, I’ll get it.”

  “Wait, what?” Kuzuryuu raised his eyebrows. He had already shushed Pekoyama when she’d tried to pull her own card from her purse, and clearly Hinata was about to get the same treatment. “I thought we agreed I’d pick it up for him.”

   Souda grimaced, flashing his teeth. “Well now I’m sayin’ I-”

   Deliberately, Hinata pulled his hand from Souda’s grasp and dropped his card down on top of the small tray in the centre of the table. “I can get it. Thanks,” he added, lamely, as an afterthought.

   Politeness could only go so far. When Kuzuryuu picked the card up and handed it back to him, Hinata could only glare at him. He wasn’t his girlfriend, nor was he his subordinate, someone who needed to be looked after, who couldn’t pay his own way. He was about to say as much, but swallowed it back, tightening his fist around the card in his hand, letting the plastic cut into his skin.

   “Hajime-chan,” Ibuki interjected kindly. “We’ve all seen what student loans are like these days, really, and it’s your birthday! You shouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

   “Let me get Chiaki’s, then,” Souda said, and Hinata turned to glare at him, too, only to find Souda was addressing Kuzuryuu instead.

   “It’s much simpler if we just put it all on the one card, though…” Sonia said with a smile, but Hinata didn’t miss her leaning in to mutter something in Souda’s ear. The mechanic pulled back, annoyed.

   “I can payfor it.” Hinata pulled a few notes from his wallet, as if physically seeing the money might convince them that it was there. But nobody was even looking at him anymore. As soon as the words were spoken, they were drowned out; the bickering around him was getting louder, with nobody attempting to diffuse the situation. He was helpless.

   “What’s going on?” He hadn’t heard Nanami return over the sound of his friends arguing. She hovered by his chair, uncertain. 

   The blood rushed in his ears.

   Souda ignored her, slamming his credit card down on the table with an air of finality. “Listen, considerin’ the deal I just landed, I think I can afford a three-course fuckin’-”

   Something broke and before Hinata could stop himself he was out of his chair, pushing Nanami aside, ducking beneath people’s elbows and parting the small crowd until he reached the bathroom. He threw the door open and bolted inside a stall, slamming the door, fumbling with the lock, turning it so hard he heard a crack of protest from his wrist. “Fuck.”

   He pressed his back against the door, covering his face with his hands, breathing hard and shallow. “Oh, fuck.”

   It thrummed all over him, panic drilling from his heart outwards, his entire body shaking with it. He tried his mantra - _you’resafeyou’resafeyou’resafe_ \- but it wouldn’t stop. He slid down the wall, trembling with the urge to throw up or scream or run away, but there was nowhere to go, half the people he knew in the world were outside this bathroom door and he had no idea how to get home from here, he’d left his phone in Nanami’s bag, _fuck_ -

   Hinata buried his face in his hands, drawing his knees up to his chest. He could imagine a group of his friends all clamouring outside the door, causing a scene, and how many people would be staring at him when they dragged him out-?

   The bathroom door opened and then slammed abruptly closed again. Muffled, he could hear voices from the other side. “Chiaki-chan, you can’t go in there!”

   Kuzuryuu’s voice, “She’s right, Nanami, isn’t it kind of…?”

   “For God’s sake.” Nanami didn’t shout, but it was the loudest he’d ever heard her speak, and his heart swelled with love, and fear- “It’s just a bathroom, why does it matter?”

   “Just leave!” someone yelled, far too close, and it took a moment for him to realise that it was his own voice. He shuddered with embarrassment, curling up smaller. He felt for all the world like a six year old throwing a tantrum, as though someone younger and stupider was piloting his body - it was high school all over again, hiding in the bathroom between classes, trying to get himself together, to _calm down._

   They ignored him. Another fist slammed against the door, horribly loud, vivid as an earthquake.

   He bowed his head, fingers already in his hair, gripping tight to ground himself. Everything was spinning. He wasn’t breathing. Distantly he could hear someone hammering on the door, the force thrumming through the wood and over his body, and that only made him curl up tighter, ignoring whoever’s voice was calling out to him.

   “ _Stop it_.” Nanami’s voice again, irritated even through her calm veneer. “He’ll come out when he wants to, Souda.”

   “Jesus Christ, I’m only tryin’ to help!”

   “Well that isn’t helping. Can you go and find us a bottle of water or something?”

   Souda huffed, but Nanami didn’t waver. “Yeah, I guess.”

   The door slammed again a moment later. “Thanks,” Nanami said, sheepishly, too late for Souda to hear, and then the room was silent again.  “You know, if a guy comes in here he’s going to think I’m a real pervert,” she said after a beat of silence, and Hinata could hear the forced smile in her voice. “I’ll wait outside if you want me to, but if there’s anything I can do…”

    If he spoke, he would vomit. He covered his face with his hands, trying to even his breathing out. What would they think of him now? To outsiders it probably looked like he was causing a scene on purpose, being absurdly dramatic over  _paying for dinner_ and maybe he had concealed these moments when he was at school but now, when all the attention was on him, it was impossible.

    He breathed in deep. Exhaled.  

    Eventually he managed, “Thanks.” He took in another shaky breath. “You should stay. I just don’t want to see them on… the way out, you know?”

    “I know. Most of them left, anyway.” He cringed, and she must have felt it, because she quickly added, “But not maliciously, or anything, I mean it was time to go home and they’d already said goodbye…”

   Hinata sighed. If there was no longer a crowd of his friends outside the door, then he really had no reason not to leave. But the stall felt so much safer; after this there would be the walk through town, the subway to the hotel, the check-in desk. From behind a locked door, it seemed like so much.

   He lolled his head back against the door, staring up at the ceiling. “Who got the bill?”

   “Souda and Kuzuryuu split it.” Nanami’s tone softened.  “They really didn’t mean to be rude.”

   He closed his eyes, gathering the resolve to finally push himself to his feet and rest one hand on the lock. He smoothed his fingers over the metal, cold and grounding. “Neither did I.”

   He opened the door, surprised to find her perched on the counter directly across from the line of stalls, sitting between two sinks. She smiled faintly at him, her ponytail bobbing as she nodded her head to gesture at the door, asking a silent question.

  In the restaurant, he hovered awkwardly behind her while she said goodbye on his behalf to Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama, the only ones who were left sitting at the table. Whether or not Souda ever came back with that water bottle, he didn’t know; they left quickly, making a beeline for the subway station two blocks away.

   He was made of glass and his insides had turned to jelly; a liquid mush that sloshed unpleasantly with every step he took. He kept his head down. He was sure that if he made eye contact, someone would be able to tell – someone would know how he had faltered, let himself down like he always did. All he had to was get to the hotel.

   This was how the cycle always went. The attack, and then the paranoia that it would happen again, that the slightest thing would trigger it. The feeling that he would never again be able to do anything without being afraid. And then it wore off, and his confidence came back, so that when the next attack came it was a shock to his system all over again, and then the paranoia…

    He fed his ticket into the machine, all too aware of the crowds around him, all pushing and shoving on their way to wherever they were headed. He drew his shoulders in, slipping though the crowd, blindly following Nanami until she found an empty space on the platform. Restlessness made his fingers twitch.

   They boarded the train in silence. Nanami, obviously, was familiar with this. He wasn’t really sure how much she understood, but it didn’t matter. After over a year, she had learned how to deal with this. How to put up with him. He dug his fingernails into the skin of his forearm, squeezing his eyes shut. There was no use dwelling on it now, but he couldn’t help himself.

   Winter chill bit at him through the walk, the sky glazed silver, threatening snow. Being outside made him feel that much calmer. and his nerves seemed to die down the closer he got to his destination. Through the main door, past the check-in desk, into the elevator; by the time they got there, the door to his hotel room was the most welcoming sight Hinata had ever seen.

   Komaeda certainly hadn’t hesitated to splurge on a nice room. It was huge, probably the biggest Hinata had ever stayed in, and furnished modern and minimalist. One entire wall was taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the entire city. Hinata dropped his bag on the floor, stunned. He couldn’t help the pang of longing that shot through him, a dull wish that Komaeda could have been here to enjoy what he had paid for, _with_ them.

   Nanami picked his bag up for him, and carried it with hers over to a more appropriate location; namely, the foot of the bed. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she started, giving him a cautious glance. He raised an eyebrow. “But have you ever seen in a movie where a guy will get his friend a hotel room and a hooker for the night as like, a birthday present…”

   “Oh my god.” Hinata couldn’t help laughing, even though he still didn’t exactly feel like it. Birthday sex, but not with him: that seemed to be about on Komaeda’s level of warped logic.

   “Not that I had any say in this, but do you think that’s what this is about? He’s trying to get you laid?”

   “Maybe.” Hinata looked around with mock-concern. “This room is really nice. The bed is really… soft.” He grinned. “It’s like he knows it’s the one-year anniversary since the first time we-”

   “Don’t call it an _anniversary_ ,” Nanami grimaced. “That’s weird. And it’s weird that you remembered.”

   “I can’t help that my birthday,” Hinata pointed out, “is a memorable date.”

   They had never celebrated any kind of anniversary of when they got together, because there wasn’t a day to remember. They had fallen into a relationship the way you fell into a comfortable routine, and when almost all of their courtship had consisted of playing video games in each other’s dorm rooms, it was hard to tell exactly when that became a ‘more than friends’ thing. Hinata didn’t know when or how the two of them had gone from vehemently denying their friends’ jokes about being together, to sharing awkward glances whenever the topic was raised, to saying, yes, okay; admitting that their relationship wasn’t platonic anymore and there was nothing wrong with that, thankyouverymuch, Hiyoko Saionji.

   “Anyway,” Nanami said, feigning seriousness. “I have two pints of ice cream in the fridge and several hours of Mario Kart planned, and you’re kind of ruining the mood with all this lewd talk.”

 

*

 

   It was safe to say that Hinata really had tried everything when it came to the insomnia. He’d gone through several beds, several phases of sleeping on the couch, moved his furniture around countless times just in case it really was some kind of feng shui-style energy block. It wasn’t. Even in this hotel room, with its faint smell of oranges and linen and massive cushy king-sized bed, even with Nanami out for the count right next to him, even with the twinkling lights of the city just outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows; comforting as all of those things should have been, sleep would not come.

   Instead, the scent of the room reminded him of morning; of industry, of showering with zesty body wash and how good that felt after a night of peaceful sleep, the kind of sleep he used to get way back when. Nanami’s presence was more of a distraction than anything; the fact that she was naked and he had only slept next to her like that a few times in their entire lives, because before they lived with Komaeda their lesions involved sneaking around dorm corridors and avoiding security patrols and now, of course, the bed they slept in was not their own and that wouldn’t exactly be appropriate.

   Hinata sighed. He resented all those tropes about men who fell asleep right after their orgasm hit; maybe it made him a better boyfriend, or something, but it wasn’t fair that his relationship seemed to have reversed that notion. And with double the intensity, because Nanami could sleep through an earthquake and Hinata didn’t sleep at all, most of the time.

   At least the presence of the window had been interesting. He was sure the glass must be mirrored on the other side, but it was harmless to imagine that it wasn’t.

   Very, very gently, he pushed Nanami by the shoulder so that she was lying on her back, and no longer draped over him as she was prone to be. She didn’t stir. From there, he got up and aimlessly headed to the bathroom, picking his underwear up off the floor with no intention of putting them on.

   It was a typical hotel bathroom, all shiny white tiles and a notice above the sink that the red tap, shockingly, ran hot. He stepped into the shower, turning the dial and letting the cold water hit him full on, shivering beneath the spray until it warmed up. He washed, the humidity and steam making him light headed. He wondered how many people had used this shower before him. All kinds of people had probably soaped themselves up in this very spot. It was a miracle, really. The diversity of the human race, and their vast numbers, the fact that every action he took was just a shadow of something someone else had done, recently or years ago, and it was impossible to know any more than that.

   He blinked, turning to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. God, he was weird when he was tired.

   When he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, he was surprised to find Nanami sitting upright in bed, duvet pulled up over her chest. She was leaning back against the headboard, clearly still tired. “You’re awake,” she said.

   “Yeah.” He went to his backpack, rummaging around inside for clean clothes. “Thought I’d take a shower. Sorry for waking you up.”

   “I’m glad you did. It must be lonely, being up all night by yourself." She stretched her arms above her head, and yawned. "What do you even do with all that time?”

   “Work." He shrugged. "Think. Watch TV.”

   She smiled faintly. “We should do something.”

   “Something?”

   “Yeah, whatever you want. It’s not too late to go out.”

   “Is it too late for a Pokémon battle?”

   She grinned. “Never.”

 

*

 

   When they got home on Sunday morning, Hinata was half expecting Komaeda not to be there. He had toyed with the idea that this whole thing had been some kind of ruse, that Komaeda would never return, maybe even that the apartment would be devoid of all furniture, the rent contract cancelled. It was ridiculous and paranoid and Hinata knew it, but that didn’t stop him being mildly surprised when he opened the door to find Komaeda sitting at the dining table, reading the newspaper like he hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the Earth.

   He barely acknowledged their presence, giving Hinata and Nanami only a small smile and a cursory nod each. Hinata dumped his bag on the floor, pulling up the other dining chair. Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think them through.  “How did it go? Is everything… alright? I mean, I understand you’re entitled to your privacy but if you need any… help, or...”

   Komaeda raised his eyebrows. “Everything’s fine, Hinata-kun. How was your birthday?” He smiled faintly again. “Or can’t you share the details?”

    Hinata blanched. He had been so caught up in worrying that he completely forgotten to say thank you, and there was no way Komaeda hadn’t noticed that. He forced a smile, trying his hardest to look relaxed – that had been the point of the gift, after all. “It was amazing, actually. I meant to tell you, they had this foreign thing on the breakfast menu you would have liked…”

   He let himself lapse into babbling about everything they’d done, pushing back the guilty reminder that Komaeda should have been there. He told him all about hotel’s pool and spa facilities, and all the exploring they’d done of the city they’d lived in for so long but never really appreciated before. He omitted the panic attack and most of the night that followed it. “But I did beat her at Mario Kart,” he added.

   “ _Once_ ,” Nanami piped up from the couch. Home for less than thirty minutes and she’d already settled into her usual state of tapping away her laptop and ignoring Komaeda pointedly.

   At the end of it all, Hinata thought about adding sly comment about thanking Komaeda in a different way, later, when they were alone, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. The older boy looked too tired and distracted to flirt with. Every few seconds his eyes darted to the window, the grey sky outside, scanning the rooftops across the street as though he’d rather look anywhere but at Hinata.

   “I’m glad you had a good time,” he said with a smile, when Hinata had finally worn out every single detail of the last couple of days. He hoped, vaguely, that Komaeda might decide to reciprocate,  but instead he pushed his chair back and got to his feet almost as soon as Hinata had finished speaking, pushing one strand of white hair behind his ear. “I… was actually just on my way out.”

   “What?” Hinata could only sit there, stunned. “But I haven’t seen you in days.”

   Komaeda looked startled at his response. “I’ll be back soon.”

   “When?” Hinata demanded, standing up as well. He was aware of how insane he sounded; if he had been having this argument with Nanami, it would’ve been out of line, no doubt about it. But Komaeda was a different story. It was a matter of responsibility.

   Komaeda shrugged, and looked away. “Soon.”

   Nanami was staring openly now, and Komaeda must have noticed, because he shot Hinata an exasperated glance and turned, walking out and making to close the door behind him. But Hinata followed him, out into the close.

   “Wait, just- what are you keeping from me?” he said, trying to soften his tone. Komaeda stopped at the top of the stairs, both hands gripping the rails on either side. Hinata waited, letting his words hang in the air, and slowly, Komaeda turned back to him, but made no move to speak. But he was hesitating.

   “You can’t just- just disappear whenever you want to without telling anyone what you’re doing.” Hinata kept going, unsure of what he was even trying to achieve. He had fleeting memories of news stories, dementia sufferers found by the side of the road, lost and confused, somehow towns away from where they lived. “Do you have any idea how dangerous-?”

   If he wasn’t looking directly into Komaeda’s eyes, he would’ve missed the shadow of concern that passed over his face, the slight lowering of his brows and parting of his lips before his pupils rolled back and his eyelids dropped, just like that.

   Time seemed to stop for a moment, Hinata’s hands reaching for Komaeda’s wrists before he could register that anything had happened, fingers clamping tight around cold skin as Komaeda’s knees buckled beneath him and his body jerked backwards, gravity willing it down. Hinata pulled him forwards, clinging tight around Komaeda’s waist as the older boy’s limp body slumped against him.

   “Oh my god.” Hinata took a step backwards, dragging Komaeda with him. He was surprisingly heavy, the complete unresponsiveness of his body making it feel like it was full of lead. He kept walking, mind empty but for the knowledge that he had to get Komaeda somewhere safe, away from the stairs-

   “Chiaki!” He tried not to shout too loudly, hammering the door with his elbow and ignoring the stab of pain. “Open the door!”

   He almost fell through the doorway when she did, sounding puzzled. “What?” She inhaled sharply when he pulled Komaeda into the apartment, the other boy’s feet scraping against the concrete and then wooden floor. “What did you do?”

   “I didn’t do anything!” Hinata snapped. If not for the steady rise and fall of Komaeda’s chest against his, he would have thought the white-haired boy was dead. He swallowed back the panic, instead looking around for somewhere to set him down. “He just passed out, I don’t… Can you clear the bed?”

   Wordlessly, Nanami nodded, and hurried into the bedroom. Hinata followed her at a much slower pace, but only made it about half way across the living room before Komaeda _moved_. He paused, unsure whether or not he’d imagined it, but then it happened again, a muscle spasm that rippled through Komaeda’s limp body and almost jerked him out of Hinata’s hold.

   “Uh- fuck-” he stammered, frantically looking around for somewhere to put Komaeda down. “Chiaki?!”

   There was precious little floor space in the main room, and he found himself without a choice but to drag Komaeda’s still-twitching body over to the space between the coffee table and the couch, laying him gently down on the rug before hurriedly shoving the table back towards the bookcase.

   His own legs felt impossibly weak, and he collapsed to sit down on top of the coffee table, looking on helplessly at the display in front of him. Komaeda’s hands were balled up into tight fists, and the spasms were hitting over and over now, his entire body shaking with them, elbows and knees jerking up off the floor and then hitting it hard on the way down.

   It felt like minutes passed with him immobilized, unable to do anything but watch Komaeda convulse on the floor, but it could only have been seconds. He gripped the edge of the coffee table, trying to remember something, _anything_ from the mandatory first aid he’d had drilled into his brain earlier that year.

   He didn’t register Nanami’s return until she was right in front of him, crouching by Komaeda’s head, pulling her hoodie off and balling it up. Tentatively, she settled the palm of her hand underneath Komaeda’s head, lifting it slightly so she could slide the makeshift cushion into position. Then, she got to her feet again and stepped away, her breathing heavy.

   “What’s wrong with him?!” He looked to Nanami for instructions, only to find her with her hands clasped in front of her, just standing there. “We should-” He let his eyes wander around the room, finally settling on Nanami’s phone, resting on top of the bookcase. “We should call an ambulance.”

   “…I don’t think so,” Nanami replied after a moment of thought. “This used to happen at school all the time, before-” She shot him an apologetic glance. “Before you were in our class. It’s alright as long as he wakes up in the next ten minutes.” She paused, looking uncertainly down at Komaeda’s body. The convulsions seemed to be easing up now, growing less frequent. “I think.”

   “Really?” Hinata backed off, blinking hard. It made so much sense; there was so much wrong with Komaeda’s brain, it was almost unbelievable that he hadn’t collapsed in front of him before now. But he was breathing, and he was alive. Hinata realised with a sinking horror that he had no idea if Komaeda had epilepsy, or anything like that; allergies, maybe, or low blood pressure.

   It had taken an entire year for him to come forward about the dementia. Hinata hadn’t even thought to ask about anything else.

   “He has anti-seizure medication in the cabinet…” Nanami mused. “Maybe he forgot to take it.”

   The sound of it was deafening; the dull thud of his limbs, the involuntary slam of his fists against the floor, the horrific noise of his breath catching the saliva in his throat.

   “And if he doesn’t come to?”

   Nanami mulled it over. “Then we’ll call for an ambulance.”

   Hinata leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees. “Wake up,” he attempted, and weakly, but there was no response. Komaeda’s eyes remained closed, expression blank as though he were sleeping. Hinata fought the urge to shake his shoulders, or slap him awake. He didn’t know much, but that was almost certainly a bad idea.

   It stopped all at once, his body stilling, his chest swelling with a deep inhale and then relaxing with a sigh. Komaeda blinked once, and then very quickly opened his eyes. Hope surged in Hinata’s chest until he realised they were unfocused, staring straight up at the ceiling with no sign of distress or confusion.

   “…Komaeda?” Nanami lowered herself to her knees again, leaning right over Komaeda’s body to get a good look at his face. He didn’t respond. It looked to Hinata like the opening of his eyes had been a physical reflex and nothing more; like he wasn’t really there, not yet. “Can you hear me?”

   Komaeda blinked again, and shivered slightly. Another blink, and then his irises were moving, his gaze travelling around the room until he found Hinata’s form still sitting on the table. He narrowed his eyes like the lids were heavy.

   Hinata couldn’t help cracking a smile, even though the last thing he felt was happy. “You with us?”

   Komaeda made a noncommittal sound in his throat, a hum that said he wasn’t quite sure, and his eyes fell closed again. Hinata watched as he stretched his fingers out, arched his back, shaking off the ache that must have been lingering in his muscles. He rolled onto his side, drawing his legs in, close to his body. But it was voluntary this time.

   He inhaled, audibly, through his nose, and then his eyes shot open once again. His face was right at the neckline of the hoodie, Hinata realised; it must smell like Nanami’s perfume, and all at once Komaeda seemed to realise where he was.

   “Don’t sit up,” Nanami warned, as soon as Komaeda made to do so. Her reflexes were surprisingly fast, but the waver of anxiety in her voice was unmistakeable. “Just relax. Can you speak?”

   Komaeda’s expression still looked dazed; cloudy, but that didn’t stop him staring pointedly at her when he asked, “Nanami-san, why am I on the ground?”

   “You had a seizure,” Hinata told him, putting on his best ‘calm medical professional’ voice. He had practiced for occasions like this. But he had never imagined it would be in his own home, with his own boyfriend, that he’d have to use this tone for the first time.

   Komaeda bit his lip, clearly thinking it over. When he had accepted that he had, in fact, had a seizure, he looked to Hinata to continue.

   “But you’re okay now,” Hinata said.  “And, um, you’re the only one who knows what we’re supposed to do now.”

   “I’d like to sleep it off, if that’s alright with you.” Without waiting for permission, Komaeda propped himself up on his elbows, and Hinata was up like a shot to help him to his feet. He managed it, but shakily, still weak. Hinata snaked one arm around the older boy’s waist, helping him into the bedroom and resisting the urge to just pick him up and carry him, bridal style, to take the strain off his legs.

   Nanami lingered behind in the living room. Hinata made a mental note to thank her later; maybe ask her for tips on staying so calm in a situation where it was so tempting to give in to panic. He helped Komaeda lower himself onto the bed, and watched him crawl beneath the covers without even bothering to take his clothes off. Hinata perched on the edge of the bed and tried not to stare.

   Something about Komaeda was different. Drawn, exhausted; more taken out of him than the seizure could account for, Hinata was sure. He hadn’t looked like this when he had left. Or had he?

   Komaeda turned to face the wall, pulling the covers right up over his head. Maybe this was one of those things where you didn’t notice something simply because it was such a gradual change. But maybe it wasn’t. If Komaeda had been neglecting his medication, there was no reason why he wouldn’t have stopped doing other things. Sleeping, or maybe even eating.

   Hinata’s chest tightened with guilt. “How long has it been since you stopped taking your meds?” he asked, his voice low, trying to be discreet.

   Komaeda stiffened, and for one horrifying moment Hinata thought it might be another seizure coming on. “I…”

   He couldn’t help imagining this happening when Komaeda was alone in the apartment, or outside, or in a hospital bed. Komaeda waking up alone on the floor without anyone to take care of him, or make sure he wasn’t hurt. It sent a shudder though him; the idea of Komaeda suffering alone and confused, in private or in public, constantly in danger-

   “I know this sounds strange.” Komaeda shifted, pulling himself out of his blankets cocoon turning to face Hinata. “But,” he let out a small, nervous laugh, “I really need you to take me to the hospital.”

 

*

   Hinata got home after sunset, switched on the coffee maker, and sat down in front of the television. He flipped through the channels until he got to the lottery draw. Like a cruel joke, they drew the numbers on his ticket one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is seven and a half thousand words long. but if you think that's outrageous don't forget that an entire 4% of those words are the word "hinata".


	9. Anesthetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _a substance that induces insensitivity to pain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor gore warning for this chapter. it's not as ominous as it sounds, i promise. ^^

   It was a lot of money. 

   Not quite so much that he could ditch his job, pay his student loans off and move to a private island, but enough that holding the lottery cheque in his hands felt more than a little surreal. He'd grown up around money, sure, but it had never been _his_. His to spend on a whim if he wanted to. He felt like a child in a candyshop, indecisive and surrounded by too many delicious possibilities.

   After taxes was about a year's worth of wages for him, and he deposited it all in his bank account, mind whirring with thoughts of what he could do with it. Realistically, it's ultimate purpose would be to make a small dent in his student loans a few years in the future, but it didn't hurt to entertain ideas. He could take a vacation, or treat himself to fancy lunches every day, or buy enough paintings from street artists to plaster the bedroom walls with them, if he wanted to.

   But as soon as the money was locked away, he found himself adverse to touching it. As though it would disintegrate the moment he laid his hands on it, the way the rest of his money seemed to, disappearing into rent and bills and clothes and gym membership, withering to ash

   He spent a lot of time lost inside his head, staring at the sky or the ceiling, pondering how to pay Komaeda back. A material gift just seemed stupid - what was the point of effectively giving someone money if they just gave it right back to you?

   He worked double shifts, and on Friday the first thing he did after cashing his paycheque was buy Komaeda chocolates, flowers, several novels, and new pyjamas. He showed up at the hospital late, laden and feeling more than a little stupid, but the look on Komaeda’s face was enough to lift his spirits. He settled into the chair beside his hospital bed, presenting every gift with a smile and a flourish and when Komaeda leaned over to kiss him, he didn’t even care about the perplexed stares and one disgusted groan from the other patients in the ward.

   “How many this time?” Hinata asked, holding Komaeda’s hand, smoothing his thumb over the ridge of his knuckles.

   Komaeda rested his head back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “Only three, all during the night. I slept right though them." He gave a small, forced smile. "The test results should come back soon, and then they should be able to do something about it.”

   The next day, Hinata dropped by between shifts with a green tea latte from work, and the number was six. The day after that, Komaeda gripped the blankets, fixed his gaze on the plaster wall when he said, “Ten.”

 

*

 

  
   “It’s going to be disgusting. My dad went to medical school here and he told me all about this lab. Apparently it’s that memorable.”

   Hinata couldn’t help looking up when he heard that. He usually spent most of his classes ignoring everyone around him and trying not to fall asleep at his desk, but it wasn’t so easy in his anatomy lab; he shared a table with three other students, their names a forgotten blur in his head, A-something and K-something and S-something.

   Today, A-something, was looking a little worse for wear. Grey around the face, and growing paler with every word the others were saying to her.

   “Are we going to see its dick?” K-something mused, his chin in his hands. Hinata had never seen a person look so bored while talking about a corpse.

   “Of course we’re going to see its dick. We might even be cutting open its dick.”

   A-something groaned as if the thought made her want to vomit. “What about its face?”

   “At some point, yeah,” S-something said with a shrug and a grin. “Ooh, Akiyama, you really shouldn’t have worn white today. Neither should you, Hinata,” he added as an afterthought. “I hope you don’t like that shirt too much.”

   “Screw you, Shimizu. They’ll give us aprons or something- right?” she asked, looking to Hinata as if he might know. He didn’t, and looked away with a frown.

   Shimizu laughed. “What if the blood just gushes out all over your hands when you make the first incision-”

   His question was cut off by the clattering of the classroom door. Hinata turned to see his professor there, late as always. She strode in, muttering her apologies, and stood before the class.

   Behind her, six gurneys stood, each one laden with a body bag. A cadaver for each group to work with. Fleetingly, Hinata wondered if they would get to choose which one they wanted.

   Already he was feeling a little queasy, half with nerves and half with disgust. He was supposed to be meeting Nanami for dinner tonight. It was hard to imagine eating a thing after this.

   He tried not to fidget through the lecture about being respectful, and how important it was that people donated theeir bodies to science- he didn’t understand how she could speak so easily with dead people right behind her. When they all trooped to wash their hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that cold, glassy eyes were watching him. But that would be impossible. They were still covered, and their eyes were probably closed. Still, he cringed at the squeak of the gurney wheels as his professor directed the stronger students in the class to deliver one to each table, along with all the tools they would need.

   By the time Hinata found himself staring down with his thumb and forefinger on the zipper of the body-bag, he had completely forgotten what the lesson was about in the first place.

   “Go on, just do it,” Akiyama urged. “Just do it and get it over with.”

   His legs felt weak, his hand not budging no matter how much he wanted it to. “Shimizu should do it,” he said, taking a step back. “Since he’s so eager.”

   “Fine.” Shimizu gave Hinata an odd look and stepped up to the gurney. In one fluid moment he pulled the zipper down, revealing the body inside.

   It was a male. Hinata didn’t know why that sent relief flooding through him, but it did, and as as soon as he began to question it, the group to his left erupted in groans over having been given a female cadaver to work with.

   It – he? – didn’t look peaceful. His eyes were indeed closed, but his face was frozen as if he’d died mid-thought, as if he hadn’t seen it coming. He was well-preserved, but not made up like he would be for a funeral; there was no illusion at play. All life was gone from him. Warily, Hinata eyed the sharp implements laid out on the bench. That was probably for the best.

   “Wow,” Akiyama breathed from behind him. “He’s so young.”

   She had stated the fact that Hinata had been trying to push to the back of his mind. He turned away from the cadaver, pretending to examine the tools in more detail, futilely trying to distract himself from the twist of nausea in his stomach.

   "Hinata?" Someone's hand on his shoulder, and he flinched involuntarily. "Dude, are you okay? You look like you're about to-"

   Hinata gripped the edge of the table and clung until his knuckles were white. Something was rising in him, unfurling, ready to strike. Blood rushing to his head, or acid rising in his throat. He couldn't tell.

   He caught sight of the surgical scissors in his periphery. They glinted silver under the harsh lights of the lab, and the knowledge of where they would be going had his vision swimming. Skin tearing. Blood spurting. Embalming fluid leaking out, dripping in pink, putrid beads.

   He had always been a little squeamish.

   "Hinata?" the person repeated, but he couldn't look up. He could feel eyes on him, ten or twenty, maybe more if you counted the cadavers. The image was in his head before he could stop it, long-still eyelids cracking open, revealing crusted over, lifeless eyes.

   "I- ugh-" He knew the moment he opened his mouth that it was a mistake. Whatever had been keeping him steady seemed to flow out with his words, leaving his legs to tremble, his forehead breaking out in a cold sweat. This would be so much worse with a living person. The cadavers were bad, but with a working circulatory system, the blood would truly gush. He could feel it - the warm liquid over his fingers, that unmistakeable pure red, and the squishy feeling of the insides through plastic gloves, he could feel it all-

   Finally, he managed to raise his head, only to find his eyes unable to focus. Never in his life had nausea gripped him like this.

   The last thing he felt before blacking out completely was a stab of pain in his jaw as he hit the table on the way down.

  
   Hinata showed up to work later that day with an faint bruise and a sour attitude. He inspected it in the bathroom mirror during his break, wondering if there was any point to making up some fight story. Even if it was ridiculous, it was mildly better than the truth. Undoubtedly, that would, at least, be his parents' feelings on the matter. Not that they would ever see the injury in the first place, as they lived hours away and hadn't once come down to visit him, but still. It didn't hurt to be prepared.

   He served customers in a daze, too caught up in his own thoughts to make idle chatter with them like he was supposed to. So he'd fainted. In class. In front of everyone. It wasn't the end of the world. He was sure he wasn't the first to do that - after all, he doubted a lot of people could just see a dead person and be fine with it. It was something you got accustomed too. Something you had to learn to cope with.

   He told himself that, over and over again, like a mantra in his head. He was learning. He was only learning.

   It was near the end of his shift when the kid came in with the after-school crowd, clad in a uniform Hinata would’ve recognised from a mile away. He almost missed it – the kid was short, so most of his body was obscured by the counter when he ordered his hot chocolate, and he wore a green hoodie instead of the compulsory blazer.  
But when he sat down at a table alone, Hinata caught sight of the red school tie and paused, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring. He busied himself with his duties, growing more and more uneasy by the second. But he had to wait, at least until he had a reason to approach.

   Even with the hoodie obscuring the uniform, he would have been blind not to seen the crest sewn into the kid’s satchel - monochrome, a white slash over a black fountain pen, unique as far as school logos went. Still, he sidled over, took the empty mug from the table and hesitated for just long enough to be conspicuous before he said,

   “Hey, do you go to Kibougamine?”

   “Oh- yeah.” The kid shot him a smile that looked disturbingly familiar, though the kid himself did not. Hinata had seen that same smile in the mirror a thousand times, that same burst of pride when someone brought up his school.

   “I’m in my last semester,” he said, gesturing down at the notebooks in front of him. “You’d think they’d go easy on us since we just got off break, but they really don’t.”

   “I’ve heard.” Hinata did his best to smile back. He couldn’t help noticing that the kid’s gaze stayed fixed on his eyes – not his forehead, where the scars peeked out from beneath his hair, or the purpling bruise that had blossomed on the right side of his jaw. It was rare enough to be commendable. “So what’s your talent?”

   The kid’s face flushed pink, as though Hinata had asked him something incredibly personal. Of course, it seemed cruel now – Hinata remembered those first few months of having to tell people he was a reserve student, the searing shame of it. “It’s kind of silly, actually. I mean, I don’t really think it’s a talent, but when I was at my old school I won this lottery…” he trailed off to laugh, and Hinata felt his heart stop in his chest. “So they called me Super High School Level Good Luck.” The kid rolled his eyes, his smile not faltering for a second. “Kind of stupid, right?”

   Hinata’s hands began to shake. Gently, he placed the mug back on the table. The kid watched him, obviously perplexed. “No, I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” He pulled the empty chair out and sat down in it, feeling a little silly, but he couldn’t bring himself to just walk away. All this time, he’d never planned what he’d say if one of the students he approached actually was from Kibougamine. “Actually, I knew the guy who was Good Luck in the class above yours. We’re friends.”

   The kid didn’t object to him sitting down. In fact, he shifted his papers closer towards himself, making room for Hinata to rest his elbows on the table. “Oh? How did you know him?”

   Hinata bit lightly down on the inside of his mouth. Of course, he’d dug himself into a corner now. “Well…” he shrugged. “I went to school with him for a while. Do you…” he trailed off, unsure of how to proceed without sounding like he was starting some kind of interrogation. “Do you really not think luck is a real talent?”

   “Um… I don’t mean to sound insulting! It’s just that I never really notice it? Whenever something good happens, people say it’s my luck, but I don’t think I’m really any luckier than anyone else.” He shrugged apologetically.

   “I see.” Hinata nodded. “That’s good. My friend’s luck was kind of a big deal in his life, so…”

   The kid raised his eyebrows, clearly wanting to hear more. “It was?”

   “It’s kind of ironic actually.” Hinata spread his hands out on the table, examining his own fingernails while he spoke. “His parents died when he was a kid, and he’s had lymphoma twice- you know what that is, don’t you?” he glanced up to find the kid looking pale and startled. “It’s cancer,” he said before the kid had a chance to answer.

   “The first time when he was seven, the second time while was Super High School Level Good Luck.” He paused. “They fucked up his treatment. He almost died.”

   Hinata took a moment to gauge the kid's reaction, trying his hardest not to think too hard about what he was saying. The words spilled out as though they had been there all along, right in his lungs, waiting.

   “Oh…” the kid said. “Um. I’m really sorry about that.”

   “Right?" If he could have laughed, he would have, but all that came out was a sort of wheezy exhale. "And then after he finally gets the all-clear, he gets diagnosed with dementia,” Hinata continued, ignoring the kid’s obvious discomfort. He needed to know about this, as hard as it was to hear – as hard as it was to say. “Because the cancer eroded his brain so much that it’s basically dying off, synapse by synapse, even though he’s in remission. And now he’s in hospital again because he won’t stop having fucking seizures.” He snapped his head up, fixing the kid with one last penetrating stare, challenging him to interrupt. “I guess your life isn’t like that.”

   “I…” the kid’s eyes darted around the room, and Hinata followed his gaze. He must have raised his voice at some point, because people were staring. Everyone was staring. “I really think I should… get going, um. I’m really sorry about your friend, Hinata.”

   Someone’s hands were on his shoulders then, then yanking him up by the underarms. An angry co-worker’s voice in his ear. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”  
    
   Hinata ignored him, his focus still on the kid, who was now hurriedly packing his things away, shoving papers and books haphazardly into his bag. He blinked. “How did you know my name?”

   The co-worker pulled him backwards, and Hinata struggled, his body working of its own accord. The kid’s eyes went to his scars, finally, apologetically. His scars. Not his nametag. Bile rose in Hinata’s throat as he was tugged backwards. This kid knew. He had to.

   “You know who I am?” he said, his voice coming out much louder than he’d intended. He was yelling, and then his co-worker was yelling, something about causing a scene, something about he’s a kid. Hinata’s body had gone limp now, he was being dragged, the fight in him gone. “You know who I am and you still go to that school?”

   “N-no!” the kid was backing away, one hand on the door, and in just a moment he would be gone. He would disappear into the city and Hinata would never see him again, never be able to explain- “I don’t, I just- thought I recognised you-”

   “If they ever try to do anything to you, you have to get the fuck out of there!” Hinata kicked out again, upturning an empty table. Someone’s baby had started crying, the only other noise in the entire place other than his own near-incoherent screaming. The kid shot him one last terrified glance before opening the door and stepping into the crowd outside, but Hinata kept on, as though he would somehow, miraculously, still hear. “Before you end up like this!”

   The co-worker pulled him into the back room, dumping him unceremoniously on the couch, and Hinata’s heartbeat stopped in his chest when he flicked the lock on the door behind him. He sat there, not daring to move, expecting screams or maybe even a beating. His body would be numb to it. He hadn’t slept since Komaeda was admitted to the hospital, and who knew how long ago that was? Five days? A week? He realised with a sinking dread that he had no idea of the date. Time had simply been flowing on, carrying him with it, oblivious.

   He must have zoned out thinking about it for long enough to seem docile. When the coworker was convinced that Hinata wasn’t going to lash out again, he sat down beside him, looking him over warily. “You know I’m going to have to report this, right?”

   Hinata covered his face with his hands, breathed out. “I know.”

   “She won’t cut you any slack,” the co-worker continued. He sounded sadder about it than Hinata felt. “You should just stay back here until she gets back. Calm down a little, maybe get some… sleep.”

   The co-worker left him like that, fingernails still digging into his forehead, as though covering his eyes would somehow shield him from the reality of how colossally he had just fucked up. All because some kid had brought those school memories flooding back at the worst time, when he was sleep deprived and anxious and incapable of thinking straight.

   He slumped further down on the couch. Of course he wasn’t capable of thinking straight. He had just terrorized a customer for no reason other than that he vaguely reminded him of his high school, and of Komaeda, who still hadn't been given a release date yet. It must have been eating at him more than he'd realised. But then, this deep into a phase of insomnia, his thoughts were a whirlwind in his head, too distant and faint to select any specific worries from. All he could do was power through it, but there was no powering through this.

   He toyed with his phone. Nobody had texted him all day, and he wondered what Nanami would say if he told her what he’d done. It was a conversation to be had face-to-face, surely. Sort of like a break up. This wasn't something they had ever done before; found themselves in a situation severe enough to warrant a Serious Talk, the breaking of bad news.

   He didn’t need any notice of when the manager got back. Hushed voices murmured just outside the door of the break room, and then it was thrown open. He only sat there while she lectured him, yelled at him, and eventually threatened to sue him before finally declaring him out of a job. Any other day, Hinata would have cried. He would have been hyperventilating and sobbing and a mess, but sleep deprivation shielded him from feeling anything except a quiet dread, knowing it would hit him later, and god only knew what would happen then.  
  
   He shuffled to the restaurant in a daze. He tried not to look at himself in shopfronts he passed, not even wanting to know how stupid he looked; his face marred threefold now, his clothes inevitably crumpled from the fall and then the struggle. It started raining halfway there, but he didn't bother to cover himself. As if it would make a difference at this point.

   He gave his name to the person at the podium, only to find that Nanami hadn't arrived yet even though he was running slightly late. He sat down anyway, and pretended to peruse the menu for a while. Sure enough, though, he wasn't hungry. Just remembering the anatomy lesson was enough to put him off food for days.

   It was a pretty nice place; Nanami's treat, not as nice as where they'd been on New Year's Eve but still too expensive a meal to ruin by bringing up his recent unemployment. The word sounded so foreign in his head. It would be a nasty bomb to drop on her after a full day of classes, and with Komaeda in the hospital... he shook his head as though displacing the thought. No, he couldn't do that. It was an issue for another day. For some reason, that did wonders to calm him down.

   He ordered a glass of water. After several minutes of sitting there sipping on it, and periodically checking his phone, Nanami still hadn't appeared. Out of the corner of his eye he could see waiters casting him pitiful glances. Probably wondering, who on earth wouldn't skip out on dinner with this guy? He smiled a little to himself, wondering what they'd say if they knew he had as many partners as he had scars. Then, he frowned, because bragging about it in his own head wasn't exactly liberating.

   Half an hour and several sent texts later, a waitress finally hovered over to his table. "Can I... take your order, or...?"

   One last time he scanned the menu he hadn't even read yet. His stomach was still very much protesting at the idea of food. "No, thank you."

   The waitress shot him one last pitying glance before leaving him be. He rested his elbows on the table, cradling his face in his hands. The strange, ultraviolet lights around the place were giving him a headache, and by now there was no way she was coming. It was entirely likely that she'd been held up in class, or had gone to visit Komaeda and had to switch her phone off. He almost laughed at the notion.

   He checked his phone again, and again. Checked his calendar to make sure this was the right date, or that he hadn't just made this entire thing up in his head as part of another hallucination. But she was definitely late. And she was definitely blanking him.

   He called Nanami several times on the way home, one call after the other ringing out. By the time the apartment was in sight, he was running. If she was there, he needed to know why the hell she'd abandoned her phone, and if not, well, that just meant he could go to bed faster. Even if he didn't sleep, he needed this day to end as soon as possible.

   He made it up the stairs in record time, winter air burning in his lungs, and entered the apartment only to find it empty and silent. He dragged himself to the bedroom, his body aching for the warmth and safety of his bed, and there she was.

   He stopped dead in the doorway, and sighed, more dramatically than he really had to considering nobody else would hear him. She was curled up under the bedcovers, fast asleep and snoring gently. Hinata noticed with mild amusement that she was still fully clothed, button-up blouse and all. It was hard to be angry with her when she looked so peaceful.

   So, like everything else, he resolved to put it aside for now. This day had been too long to hold grudges against someone who wasn't even conscious to know about it. With another sigh, he stripped and crawled in beside her, and, against all odds, he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i finally noticed that the aforementioned formatting issues included messing with italics for some reason, even though they usually translate just fine from my word processor to ao3?? so again please bear with me until i fix them 
> 
> \- i know naegi doesn't wear a hoodie with his uniform. however. this is his rebellious phase. or something.


	10. Apnea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _temporary cessation of breathing, especially during sleep._

   "Hinata, you have to tell them."

   He bowed his head at the words. He'd seen them coming a mile off, but that hadn't stopped him hoping that Koizumi would have some other advice. Perhaps something more along the lines of, he supposed, lying for the rest of his life. Somehow, that seemed so much easier.

   "You know you do," she said matter-of-factly, picking at the crust of her sandwich. Hinata hadn't even touched his own lunch yet, too busy talking to find moments to eat. "You didn't even need me to tell you that, because you have basic morals, I think."

   "Yeah." He sighed. "I just don't know how I could even bring it up. Chiaki's been so stressed out with school lately, and with Komaeda in the hospital..."

   They were sitting on the edge of the big fountain in the middle of the plaza near the building where Koizumi worked. She'd called him out of the blue asking if he wanted to meet up, and, not having anything better to do, he had reluctantly agreed. 

   She hadn't mentioned anything about the last time they saw each other, but he supposed it was just a matter of time.

   "It'll just get worse the more you put it off, you know. You'll think, okay, now's a bad time, I'll wait until things are calmer. And then when things are calmer, you'll say, oh, things are so good between us, I don't want to ruin it." She took a big bite of her sandwich, her cheeks ballooning with it. Covering her full mouth with her hand, she said, "It'll never end." 

   Shit. He had to admit, she had a point. "I don't even know what they would say. I mean, what would you say if Hiyoko suddenly lost her job?"

   Koizumi shrugged, swallowing her food down. "It happens. She has a temper. Sometimes I think she still doesn't understand that being a Kibougamine graduate doesn't mean you can call your choreographer a 'stupid disgusting bitch' and get away with it."

   Hinata laughed a little under his breath. Knowing Saionji, that wasn't exactly hard to believe.

   "I guess that's not exactly the same as falling asleep in the breakroom halfway through your shift, though. You'd think they'd go easy on you for something like that."

   Hinata shrugged, trying to look relaxed as possible. Koizumi was the only one of his friends he'd seen since New Year's Eve, and the only one he'd told about being fired. But even then, he wasn't ready to tell the whole story. In all honesty, he hoped to never have to tell that story to anyone in his entire life. "It's not a disaster, I guess. It's just not the easiest thing to come out with. I don't know."

   It was easiest to hide it from Komaeda. It wasn't like he ever asked in any detail about Hinata's job, and Hinata was pretty sure he had other things on his mind. But Nanami working from home made his life difficult; for the last few days he'd been spending his usual work hours mooching around shops in parts of town he knew she wouldn't go, and studying at a library on the other side of the city, bypassing the one at the university just in case she showed up there and caught him. He felt ridiculous doing it, like a kid skipping school, but until he could muster the courage to explain himself, it was necessary.  


~*~

 

   Hinata got the call to pick Komaeda up early the next day, when he was sprawled out on the couch, flicking through the television channels and avoiding medical dramas at all costs. Since he didn’t actually drive, it was really Pekoyama who was doing the picking up, collecting Hinata first, then driving to the hospital for Komaeda, and then bringing them back again. It was an absurd system, but Komaeda had too much to bring back on the subway, and Hinata was sure he wasn’t up to public transport, anyway.

   Pekoyama was good about it. She made light conversation, and the music in her car was a mixtape Kuzuryuu had apparently made, which included some of the most ridiculous songs Hinata had ever heard. It did a lot to brighten the mood.

   “Really?” he spluttered out a laugh when he recognised the voice coming from the speakers. “Vocaloid?”

   She only smiled, keeping her eyes on the road. “Miku is a goddess.”

   He didn't know what he expected when he got the hospital. Some fantasy had been playing at the back of his mind where Komaeda leapt into his arms, spry and healthy and declaring it to have been an easily treatable fluke. He expected an embrace, at the very least.

   Instead, Komaeda was waiting outside when they finally pulled up to the main doors, looking surprisingly well-rested, with a nurse by his side. He loaded his suitcase into the boot and then climbed into the back seat, not bothering to say goodbye to his nurse companion before he did so. Hinata stayed put, whatever reflex had been urging him to get up and sweep Komaeda off his feet in front of everyone having died off as soon as he saw the look on his boyfriend's face. He sat facing the front, deciding it was best not to put him on the spot. 

   They drove home in silence. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Komaeda had been omitting details whenever Hinata asked what was happening, and he stayed just as locked up about it through the drive. Every few minutes their eyes met in the rear-view mirror, and Hinata swallowed. 

   They said their goodbyes to Pekoyama and went up to the apartment. Komaeda abandoned his case by the door, and gravitated towards the couch, sitting heavily down on it and patting the space beside him. Hinata sat down too, keeping a wary distance.

   The silence stretched on between them for what felt like several minutes before Komaeda finally broke it with a sigh. “I think you know where this is going.”

   “Yeah.” Hinata reached to take the older boy’s hand, expecting him to pull away, but he didn’t. “I think I do.”

   Truthfully, Hinata had been trying not to jump to any conclusions. He hadn't touched a search engine this entire time. It would be just like him to give into paranoia, and that wouldn't help anyone. 

   "I-” Komaeda started, and then hesitated, rethinking it. “The seizures,” he began again, and Hinata squeezed his hand, urging him on. “Were happening because a tumor is putting pressure on my brain. The biopsy results came back yesterday and, as they thought, it's lymphoma.”

   "Okay," Hinata said, slowly. It wasn't a lot to process. He hadn't jumped to conclusions, he really hadn't, but it was impossible not to think of the possibilities. Especially when someone was already a cancer survivor twice over. "So what did the doctors say about treatment?"

   “Well, that’s the thing. It’s so embedded that if they tried to operate, they would damage the tissue, and I’d be severely disabled if I even survived the operation. So obviously, they can’t do that. And if they can’t operate, no matter what they do, the tumor will still be there, and the cancer will spread. So I won’t be coming back from this.”

   “Wait, what?" The words left Hinata's lips before he could even think. His voice was hoarse, and cracked, and instinctively he covered his mouth to stop from blurting out anything else. Waiting for Komaeda to be released from hospital, he'd somehow convinced himself that he'd become good at taking bad news by now. Clearly, he was wrong. 

   Komaeda only shrugged, as if to say, _yeah_. “They don’t declare it terminal unless they know, so...”

   Hinata nodded, slowly. “How long...?”

   “Six months? Four months?" Komaeda shrugged again, and looked away. At the same time, he unlaced his fingers from Hinata's, and rested his hand on his knee instead. "With treatment it could be up to a year, but I already told them I don’t want it. The apartment is yours. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll call the landlord about signing the rent contract over to you tomorrow morning, and-”

   “Wait, wait, slow down," Hinata urged him. "What are you saying? They're offering you treatment and you don't want it?"

   "It's not gentle. And I've already made my peace with it, Hinata-kun, so you shouldn't try to convince me otherwise. It isn't life saving, and even if it was, it would only be for a few years. Even excluding how much money the health service would be wasting on someone like me, it's not worth the pain, I think."

   Hinata reached to touch his shoulder, and when Komaeda didn't protest, trailed his fingertips up and down his arm. It was the most comforting gesture he could think of without just pulling the older boy into a hug, and he had a feeling that wouldn't be appropriate. "Were you alone when they told you?"

   Komaeda looked away, his shoulders going slack with the memory of it. "It's alright. I knew it was coming, and- I wanted to be the one to tell you." 

   "Oh..." Hinata nodded again, unsure of whether or not that should be flattering. Beside him, he heard Komaeda swallow.

   "So, that's that." He said it with a weak, forced smile and an air of finality. But he made no move to get up. 

   Hinata let the silence lie. He just sat there, absent-mindedly stroking the fabric, looking at nothing in particular while he did it.  
His brain didn't seem to want to register what he had just been told. That instead of years, Komaeda had months. In some way, he'd come to terms with the fact that he would die, probably while they were still together, and it would be worse than anything that had come before. But that tidal wave had seemed a long way off.

   He couldn't imagine how Komaeda felt. 

   After a while, Komaeda stood up, and Hinata's mind immediately started to reel with paranoia. Maybe being quiet wasn't right - maybe Komaeda wanted reassurance, or a hug, or for Hinata to cry. But he was too numb for tears, and it was his job to hold it together. To be strong so that Komaeda had the option not to.

   A shiver went through him when he realised that he'd never seen Komaeda cry before. Not when he was ill in high school, not when they'd talked about dementia, not even now. He watched as the white-haired boy turned and walked towards the kitchenette. To his surprise, he then bent and started rummaging about in the cupboards, pulling out a pan and then opening the fridge. 

   "Are you hungry?" Hinata asked, trying to keep a neutral tone, neither serious nor light. 

   Komaeda just kept taking things out, apparently at random, and setting them down on the counter. Either that or he was actually planning on cooking something from eggs, mango slices, and beer. "What do you think Chiaki-san would like for dinner?" he said, airily, closing the fridge and opening the cutlery drawer. He took out a wooden spoon, not even looking down to see what he was selecting before he placed that, too, on the counter. 

   "She won't be home." Hinata approached him carefully. When he drew closer, he noticed Komaeda's hands were shaking. "She's going out with Mikan right after class." He cleared his throat, eyeing the ingredients again. "You feel like cooking?"

   "Yes." Komaeda said it like he was going to say something else, but he only nodded once and repeated himself. "Yes."

   Hinata stood beside him at the counter and chanced a look at the older boy's face. He expected to find anguish, or maybe that horrible, crazed look that sometimes clouded his eyes when he talked about himself. But there was nothing. Komaeda was just standing there, staring blankly into the sink, arms hanging limp by his sides.

   "Alright, we can do that." He tried to sound encouraging, but he got the feeling Komaeda was teetering on the edge of something terrible. As though one wrong touch could break him completely. "I think we still have stuff left over from those gingerbread cookies we made."

   The words were barely out of his mouth before Komaeda had thrown open the cupboard door and started taking out the bags of flour and sugar. Hinata took the opportunity to replace the other ingredients back in the fridge. By the time he was done, Komaeda had already looked a recipe up on his phone and propped it up against the wall, squinting to read the tiny writing.

   There wasn't much for Hinata to do but watch him work, occasionally handing Komaeda utensils when he asked for them. His voice came much quieter than usual, and his hands didn't stop shaking, to the point where Hinata had to take the mixing bowl from him and swirl the ingredients until they were smooth enough to require much less effort to blend them together. While he did that, Komaeda washed the dishes they'd already used. It was like he just didn't want to stop. 

   Other than 'please' and 'thank you's, he didn't speak.

   Hinata didn't feel the urge to leave, though. He just hovered, talking idly about how good the cookies would taste, how nice the cinnamon smelled, anything he could think of that was at all relevant. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do. It was like taking care of a very fragile child in the midst of some kind of brain malfunction.

   He supposed he'd react the same way.

   Every so often he'd touch the small of Komaeda's back, and smile when the white-haired boy looked at him. He began to panic a little when Komaeda started pressing the cutter into the dough, knowing full and well that as soon as the cookies were on the tray, they had to go in the oven. He wondered if Komaeda wouldn't just stand there and stare at it until they were done. 

   But then again, Komaeda wasn't exactly being predictable right now.

   He was trembling so badly that the moment he lifted the baking tray, it clattered from his hands, thankfully landing right-side-up on the counter. "Let me," Hinata said quickly, taking it from him and sliding it into the oven, closing the door carefully behind him. "How long do they bake for?"

   Komaeda didn't say anything. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed tightly together.

   "Ko?" Hinata attempted, pressing a light touch to Komaeda's elbow. He jerked it away, out of reach, and Hinata drew his hand back. He couldn't think what to say, so he said, "It's okay."

   Komaeda only shook his head. "I can't believe how stupid I'm being. Well," he paused, cracked his eyes open. "Of course I can. It is me, after all."

   "Don't say that," Hinata said softly. He forced himself to stay calm, and resist the urge to wrap his arms around Komaeda and hold him close until he felt better. It wouldn't help. 

   He just laughed, weakly. "I thought I was ready. I had all these plans, and now it's just..." he spread his palms before himself, and looked down at them before curling his fingers into tight, shaky fists. "It feels like it's so soon."

    _It is_ , Hinata thought, his throat tight.

   "I know," he said instead.

  
   Hours later, the two of them lay in bed, watching the sunset cast pink, then yellow, then orange against the opposite wall. They'd spent the day going through their usual chores, barely saying a word. Every so often, Komaeda would start to shake again, and Hinata lingered by him; he didn't know if it was obvious what he was trying to do, but even if it was, he needed Komaeda to know that he wasn't alone. After a dinner that neither of them touched, they had decided to call it an early night. 

   Hinata managed to convince Komaeda to take a shower first, to wash the hospital smell off him, and his hair was still damp from it, water soaking into the pillow he was resting against.

   He stared at the ceiling while Hinata pretended to read a book. Hinata had given up hope of getting any more words out of him for the day, so he almost jumped with the shock of it when Komaeda gingerly touched his wrist and asked, "Can we talk?"

   "Y-yeah, yeah," Hinata said, hurrying to close his book and put it away, out of sight. Komaeda was lying on his side, so Hinata mimicked him, arranging himself so that they faced each other, Komaeda's anxious eyes just inches from his own. "What's on your mind?"

   Komaeda spoke too fast, like he'd been rehearsing. "When I said I wanted to be the one to tell you," he began, and then halted, searching Hinata's gaze for something that he clearly didn't find. "It wasn't because of sentimental reasons. I've been meaning to tell you something else as well, and, um, they sort of go together. There’s something you don’t know. About my talent."

   “Jesus, Komaeda, do we need to talk about that now?" Hinata frowned. This was the most he'd heard Komaeda say since he got back from the hospital, and the last thing he wanted to do was silence him, but at the same time, something in his gut told him that this conversation wouldn't be going anywhere good. "Unless you’re lucky enough to cure cancer, I think it can wait?”

   Hinata wasn't trying to be funny, but Komaeda gave a wry smile, and his heart leap with it. He was beginning to think he might never see it happen again. “Not exactly. But I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I don’t have good luck all the time. In fact, sometimes I’m remarkably unlucky… and, ah, sometimes I’m not.”

   Hinata’s mind wandered back to his conversation with the student in the coffee shop. “Right.”

   “The thing is… it’s not as random as it looks.” Komaeda took a breath, steeling himself. “I know this sounds crazy, but it’s a cycle. A bad thing happens, and then a good thing happens, and then a bad thing happens; it’s been that way for my entire life.”  
Hinata could only stare at him, uncomprehending. He had read plenty about what to do when the dementia really set in, when the delusions started, but it hadn’t prepared him. Especially not at a moment like this.

   He wondered if the tumor might be making the dementia worse somehow, accelerating it. He swallowed and tried to keep his voice as soft as possible. “Komaeda…”

   “Just listen to me. You’ve seen it happen.” Green eyes went wide with desperation when Hinata shook his head, blank. “You have! Don’t you remember the time we got pizza and- I fell and the manager gave me all those vouchers?”

   “They do that for everyone. That’s just their way of dealing with the possibility of a lawsuit, you know it is.”

   “Remember when I got sick on our first date? When you hit me with the puck and then I won the game?”

   Hinata shook his head, and lowered his brows. “That was just-”

   But Komaeda just kept talking over him, something he rarely ever did. He still had that frenzy in his eyes, and he clutched the bedcovers close to him. “When my lottery ticket won right after the seizure?”

   Hinata’s mouth went dry. He did remember. He remembered how Komaeda had left without a trace, without an explanation, as though he'd been avoiding something. 

   “When my parents- died, in a plane crash, but I was the only one who survived- what are the odds of that? How can it just be a coincidence when all these things keep happening in patterns?”

   Hinata took a moment to compose himself before fixing Komaeda with his gaze, keeping his voice calm. Someone had to be calm. “Why are you telling me this now?”

   “Because there’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.” Komaeda released his vice grip on the covers and rolled over onto his back, facing the ceiling again. “Do you like me, Hinata-kun?”

   "Like you?" Hinata raised his eyebrows. He propped himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Komaeda's face, see every shadow and contour and flicker of emotion across it. 

   “Are you attracted to me?" Komaeda's voice came out small, and he sounded oddly disgusted by the notion. "Do you care about me?”

   “Of course-" Hinata shook his head in disbelief, reeling back a little. "Of course I-”

   “One other thing I’ve noticed,” Komaeda went on, as if Hinata hadn’t answered him at all. “Is that these cycles begin with bad luck, and that the good thing that follows them is always enough to make up for the bad thing that happened before. That’s why I think that the lottery wasn’t the end of this cycle. I don’t think dying is… is worth any amount of money. Even someone as low as me must be valued higher than that. I’m still waiting for the good luck to happen; something to make up for my life being over, I suppose.”

   Hinata said nothing. The more Komaeda spoke, the more this was beginning to sound like a delusion; it made sense, but at the same time, it made no sense at all. If it was so obvious, he would have noticed it by now. If Komaeda's life was nothing but patterns, moreso than other people's - true, rigid patterns that followed this logic, surely someone must have picked up on it? Surely someone would have done something by now?

   “I’ve been wondering for a while if this talent can change people. Other people. Manipulate them.” The words startled Hinata, but when he checked Komaeda's face, it was just as neutral as before, his pale lips slightly parted as he looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “When my parents died, it was because the plane went down. The luck didn’t touch them as people. It didn’t touch the pilot. There was nothing anyone could do.”

   Hinata let him continue. He had never heard Komaeda talk about his parents in any real depth before; he knew they had been dead for a long time, and that they had been wealthy, but that was about it. It sent an unpleasant pang through him to hear Komaeda's tone when he mentioned them - not pained, but distant. More distant than Hinata sounded when he spoke about his own parents. Somehow, that was even worse.

   Komaeda was still talking, not slowing down for a second. “It’s all so twisted up. They found that second tumor right before I met you- when you were him. And I was diagnosed with dementia just a couple of months before the first time you kissed me. And now this.” He raised one hand, pressing the palm flat against his forehead. “I’ve been thinking that the only thing that could make up for dying would be dying with you in love with me. Because," he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out Hinata's reaction as he continued. "For someone in love with hope, I suppose, the best thing that can happen in my meagre, pathetic life," he took in a shaky breath, "is for it to love me back."

   Komaeda opened his eyes slowly, but Hinata was frozen. It was as though his mind had become numb, impenetrable, and the words were just lingering in the air, a jumble of syllables that he couldn't bare to hear. 

   "Because of your talent. I think... it thinks that this is what I want." Komaeda let out a little, faint laugh. "Not that it really cares about what I want." 

   “You’re saying this is my fault?”

   The words sounded like they were being said by someone else.

   Hinata pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his temples, unable to believe what he was hearing. 

   Komaeda's brows lowered, almost thoughtful. “I don’t mean that. I just mean that I have a theory-”

   “You think you have cancer because of me?”

   Hinata's voice came out horribly shrill, and he winced at it. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but wasn't he just repeating Komaeda's words? If the luck cycle made sense, than this made sense. It would fit so neatly into Komaeda's worldview, to see his meeting Hinata as an act of luck, as their relationship being nothing but a fortunate little fluke-

   “No- Hinata-” Komaeda struggled to sit up, finding himself tangled in the sheets. Eventually he managed it, and lay his hand on Hinata's shoulder, holding him there. “You don’t understand.”

   “What else could there possibly be to understand? You just said- it’s connected to me? Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

   “It’s not connected to you, it’s connected to my happiness-”

   “So my being around is killing you?” Hinata raised his voice, knowing full and well that he sounded absolutely hysterical. Maybe all he needed was a slap across the face, and this would all be fine. And he wouldn't be panicking. And Komaeda wouldn't be _dying_ because of-

   “That isn't what I said!” Komaeda reached out when Hinata pulled the covers back and got up, but he was too late.  
Hinata started pacing immediately. Komaeda only watched him, his mouth agape, apparently having run out of things to say at last. Hinata halted, and then leaned against the wall, his head in his hands. He couldn't think. He could think any more than-

   "I need to leave." 

   "What? No, no, no," Komaeda scrambled to get up, but didn't seem to know what to do with himself then. He simply stood there with his arms around himself, helpless.

   “What if I left?" Hinata raised his head to look Komaeda in the eyes. "If I wasn’t around, would it undo this? Would that- I don’t know, trigger the-?”

   “No,” Komaeda said simply, his brows lowered with annoyance.

   “What if it did?”

   “And what if it didn’t?” Komaeda replied without missing a beat. "Hinata-kun, what if you left and nothing happened? You aren’t even letting me explain this.”

   "I just have to get out of here," Hinata said, more for his own sake than Komaeda's, because the fact that he was pulling Nanami's suitcase out from under the bed made that more than obvious. "It's for the best." 

   “I know about this better than you do. And I know that it’s impossible to change things. Do you think I’d be like this right now if it were that easy to control? Do you actually think I would die for the affections of a reserve student?”

   The words struck Hinata into silence, and he lifted his head expecting to see Komaeda looking just as stricken too, but he didn't. He thought he had been witness to the full spectrum of Komaeda's emotions by now, but never had he seen him angry like this. Before, it had always been weak, impotent anger - directed at the masses for not knowing their place, or himself, most of the time - but now Komaeda was truly furious. 

   "That's right. That's what you are, isn't it? All this time I've been putting it aside, thinking that the hope inside you was brighter than whatever worthless title you had before, that you weren't manufactured, that you had just evolved-" Komaeda shook his head. His eyes were fixed on Hinata's scars, and he resisted the urge to cover them with his hand. "But that isn't even you. It was him. The cycle thinks you're the same, it doesn't understand that he's never coming ba-"

   "No!" Hinata's hands were shaking, clenched into tight fists. "Komaeda, what the hell is the matter with you? There is no 'him'. It was always me!" He was speaking in the words of officials now. He had simply chosen to return to his birth name, received new treatments, the Kamukura Project had never existed and that name was lifted from him as quickly as he'd been given it. "And-And I'm not a reserve student, I haven't been a reserve student for years and..." he trailed off for a moment, trying to gather the confidence to tell Komaeda what he never seemed to understand. "We don't even go to school anymore! That's all in the past and you need to get over it. You're acting really fucking crazy right now."

   "You would be too if you understood that you can't change this." He had never seen Komaeda look so out of it. His eyes were wild, but devoid of that strange joy they always held when he talked about hope before. "Of course, who else would have hope that I'd get better? Maybe there are parts of him still left in you, after all?"

   Komaeda's voice had grown loud now, obnoxious. Hinata didn't even acknowledge his question. “You don't know that it won't change. What kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try?”

   He strode across the room to the dresser and opened drawers at random, pulling out his clothes in handfuls and tossing them into the case. He didn't have a plan, but he didn't need anything more than this. This and his passport. He took it from the drawer of his bedside table, ignoring the incredulous noise Komaeda made when he saw that. 

   “So you’re breaking up with me. Because I'm ill.” Komaeda laughed bitterly, a sound Hinata had never heard from him before. It was jarring enough to make him pause, and glance back over his shoulder to find Komaeda glaring at him. "Wow."  
Hinata closed the case, zipping it up in one fluid movement. "It's not like that.”

   “It's going to happen either way.”

   “You don’t know that.”

   "I do know that! I have two terminal illnesses, and they don't just go away because something bad happened to me, that's not how the cycle works, and don't tell me I don't know about something you just found out about ten minutes ago. You're confused, Hajime. Unless one of those talents you used to have was Super High School Luck Cycle Exper-"

   "Shut up!" Hinata yelled, and Komaeda did, instantly. "What the hell else am I supposed to do? You can't just tell me this is hinging on whatever feelings I might have for you in the future and then say there's nothing I can do about it."

   He stood up straight, guarded, and fixed Komaeda with a glare. The older boy said nothing, only clenched his jaw and held his stare, his whole body trembling but his expression controlled. As soon as he was sure Komaeda had nothing else to say, Hinata lifted his case off the bed and left the room with it. 

   Komaeda followed him to the front door, silently. 

   "Wait," Hinata stopped just over the threshold, just in time to see a flash of hopefulness cross Komaeda's face before his expression settled back into a stubborn frown. "Is this going to cause legal problems?"

   Komaeda crossed his arms over his chest and fixed him with a surly look that did nothing to answer the question. 

   "You said you aren't allowed to live without a carer. If I leave...?"

   "Don't worry about that. You aren't registered as my carer."

   "What?" Hinata blinked, letting the words catch up with him. "...Why would you lie to me about that?"

   "I didn't," Komaeda said shortly, and slammed the door in his face.


	11. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **verb;**   
>  _cease work or movement in order to relax, sleep, or recover strength._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning for mentions of suicide in this chapter. again, not as ominous as it sounds!

   Rain poured from the moment he left the apartment, and that was an omen if ever Hinata had seen one.

   He found himself underneath a bus shelter, scrolling through his phone contacts. He had no doubt that Koizumi would take him in until he found a place to stay, but that would mean putting up with Saionji, who would most likely be unsympathetic about the situation.

   And why wouldn't she be? From any outside perspective, he undoubtedly looked like the worst person in the universe. He buried his face in his hands, trying to block the thoughts out. He could dwell on this later, when he wasn't sitting in the middle of the city with a pastel-pink suitcase at his feet and absolutely no idea what the fuck he was doing.

   Souda and Kuzuryuu were more likely to accept what he'd done, but then, it seemed a little presumptuous to show up on one of their doorsteps after having deliberately ignored their texts and phone calls for weeks. Even in a situation like this, he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to hear about how it was okay to take him in because they had it so good, it was no skin off their backs to spare a little for an underling.

   And since she lived with Kuzuryuu, Pekoyama wasn't an option, either. Mioda was on tour again. Tsumiki would probably call Nanami the second he contacted her, and he just wans't ready to deal with that yet.

   He could go back to his parents' house, the way he could hypothetically stab his eyes out with a fork. They lived so far away, and quite frankly, he would rather stay in a sewer than have to deal with them every day. It would only disappoint them, anyway. He had just gone from living with his steady girlfriend and what they knew as his 'good friend', from doing well in his classes and working part-time - to being unemployed and basically homeless.

   There wasn't even anyone else to blame for it.

   He scrolled through again, and again, and again. He'd had the same phone for years, and was alarmed to find he still had the numbers of some of his friends from the reserve program. He hadn't spoken to them in a long time. He didn't doubt they all hated him, or at least resented him. The program had been hell, and he was the only one who managed to break free of it; and they, of course, had no idea what he had gone through for the privilege.

   Still, the possibility of being hated didn't stop him analysing whether or not those contacts could be useful. He flicked through them until he found the number of someone he used to be relatively close with; close enough to know that his family were in real estate. He dialled the number, covering his other ear with his hand to block out the cacophony of traffic and chattering pedestrians.

   "Hello?"

   "Hey," he said too quickly, his voice having the audacity to crack in the middle of the word. He cleared his throat, started again. "Hey, it's Hinata, from school...?"

 

   He managed to secure an unofficial rental; no contract, no questions asked, just a couple of weeks some one-room apartment in another city. The commute would be a pain, but Hinata was willing to take any excuse to skip classes for a while. It was his reward, he supposed, for attending while Komaeda was in the hospital when he could have easily taken the opportunity to take some time off and spent it all weeping by his bedside, if he wanted.

   As soon as he arrived at the place, ridiculous suitcase in hand, he wondered just why he thought this would somehow be better than staying with his parents.

   He hadn't expected a mansion, but the place was a mess; everything dusty and cold from disuse. The kitchen counters were crusted with grime, and he realised with a twinge of horror that there was no private bathroom; instead, there was one at the end of the hallway to be shared with two other tenants. He closed the door behind him and sat down heavily on the battered old sofa, feeling one of the boards of it crack beneath him.

   There was nothing to the place but that; the kitchenette and the sofa, which helpfully had a filthy-looking duvet slung over the back of it, and two chairs around a dining table which clearly wasn't sanitary to eat off of at all.

   All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, and more distantly, the ocean roiling not to far away. That, at least, was a small blessing.

   That night, he prowled the new city alone, getting lost within moments of setting foot outside the door and immediately deciding that he didn't care. He had his phone, for safety reasons. Every few minutes, it would vibrate with a call that he ignored. When he checked the time, the lock screen was riddled with different names. Nanami, Komaeda, Nanami, Souda, Souda, Pekoyama, Nanami...

   He ate breakfast at a cafe by the pier the next morning. Despite the hangover, it felt oddly good to be here, letting the sea air cleanse his lungs while he downed several cups of coffee, trying to make up for not sleeping.

   He killed time outside because it was better than sitting around trapped within four walls, his phone locked in a kitchen drawer, trying and failing to see a way out of this.

 

   It was hard to tell where the time was going. He lay out on the beach, on his back, the sand filtering down the back of his shirt and into all the creases of his clothing, but it was hard to care. The sun warmed him, forcing his eyes closed against the glare of it.

   The plan, if it was even worthy of being called one, was to leave as soon as he had somewhere to go.

   This town had payphones, he knew. It had an internet cafe. He wasn't really as cut off as he liked to pretend, all the way out here with his cell phone hidden out of sight and on silent. There was no reason he couldn't find himself a room back Tokyo so he could go back to class, or just call Nanami and tell her where he was, and when he'd be coming back.

   He stretched out, curling his toes into the sand. He missed her, but not enough to make contact, not yet. If he stayed here long enough, he was sure the world would just forget about him; she would move on, Komaeda would find someone else to take care of him, the university would wonder if it was some administrative error that Hajime Hinata had ever been enrolled with them, because they could find no proof of his existence.

   It was a stupid fantasy. He knew it was.

   It was stupid to be even considering not being with Nanami anymore, when one of the only things in his future he'd ever really been certain about was that he'd be with her. It was stupid to want to ditch his classes - being a doctor was all he'd ever wanted, ever since he was a child with a little toy stethoscope; ever since he'd accompanied his dad on a trip to pick his mother up from work and he'd seen the exterior of the big private hospital for the first time, clean and white and so impressive it had knocked the breath right out of him.

   More than anything, it was stupid to expect Komaeda to just get on with his life. Hinata didn't know what he would do, but whatever it was, it wouldn't be easy for either of them.

   He blinked his eyes open, squinting up at the clear, blue sky. It was hard to guess if Komaeda cared about him at all anymore, after the things he'd said. Not that it was his fault, really. He obviously didn't understand why Hinata had to leave - even if Komaeda's entire luck theory had been a fantasy planted in his mind by one of his many health problems, Komaeda still believed it. And Hinata still believed it.

   Maybe they were both crazy.

 

   He had never been afraid of being alone because he never had been.

   And not alone in the philosophical sense; alone as in unloved, or alone as in disconnected - the kind of alone that scared him was being awake at three in the morning, duvet pulled up to his chin, surrounded only by the sounds of creaking pipes and distant wind. He had never lived alone. He had slept alone, but never behind a locked door - and even then, not for months. It was funny, how he'd been so disturbed by that first night he'd spent in bed with Komaeda, but he would give anything to be there and tensed up with awkwardness than here and paralyzed to the core with anxiety in a strange apartment miles away from home.

   Every few minutes he took out his phone and brought up Nanami's number, just as a reminder that he had it. He never called her, but he could. He could end this ridiculous endeavour with just one push of a button. He could go home, if Komaeda would let him. He could pretend none of this had ever happened.

   But he didn't.

   They stopped calling and started texting. He drank his breakfast coffee and read through the messages. Most of them said things along the lines of "please call me back", "ibuki needs you to call her!!", "hinata you piece of shit"- every morning his fingers hovered over the keys, a lump rising in his throat as he tried to figure out what to tell them. How exactly to explain that he was running away from more than just what Komaeda had said, that he just needed to be alone because sometimes that's how it is. That it was simply easier to pretend to be a different person, with a different life.

   He supposed they wouldn't understand. So he switched off the phone, and said nothing.

   A week went by like that. Meals in cafes and so much wandering that his legs ached by the time he got back to the apartment well after sunset, day after day. His life seemed to be framed within six months, now; every moment seemed like so much more, but he didn't pity himself for it. He knew that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Komaeda would surely be feeling the same thing, amplified by a thousand. Every second was the pulse of the tumor, the death of a handful of brain cells.

   One week into six months was a decent fraction. Long enough to establish being gone. Long enough that if the cancer was going anywhere, it would have shrivelled up and disappeared.

   Hinata wasn't a telepath, but he had a feeling that it hadn't.

  
~*~

  
   Somebody knocked on his door.

   He was changing his duvet cover when he heard it, and his entire body went rigid. Nobody had called on him as long as he'd been staying here.

   His hand shook as he opened the door, and he squeezed his eyes shut, opening them only when he heard the creak of the hinge and knew he had no choice but to look at the person in front of him.

   He felt his jaw drop. "What the hell are you doing here?"

   "Yeah, hi." Souda leaned against the doorframe, his eyebrows raised, looking Hinata up and down, scrutinizing. He had his work clothes on, his overalls stained with oil, and Hinata wondered why the hell he felt the need to look so unimpressed. "Good to finally see you, too, man."

   Not knowing what else to do, Hinata stepped aside, allowing Souda to come in. He closed the door behind him, still trembling slightly.

   "So this is where you've been hidin' out all this time?" Souda's eyes travelled the room, his face set in a disgusted frown. Hinata watched him take in the clothes all over the floor, the takeout boxes all piled up on the kitchen counter. "Jesus, Hinata, it looks like a crack den."

   "I wasn't expecting guests," Hinata mumbled. He realised he sounded just like his mother when he said that; except his parents' house was always immaculate, guests or none, so it meant nothing, really, coming from her. "How did you know where I was?"

   Souda leaned against the fridge, casually inspecting the fingernails of one hand. "Well, lucky for you, me and Nanami had a friend from robotics club who knows how to trace cell phone signals. A real talented programmer, you know? They managed to track you down, otherwise we would've had to call the cops."

   "What?!" Hinata sat down heavily on the couch, horrified. "Why the fuck would you call the cops on me?"

   "Not _on you_ , _for_  you." At Hinata's lack of comprehension, he sighed. "Didn't you even consider what this looks like? You leave home, don't answer your phone, nobody knew where the hell you are, and there Komaeda is, talkin' some shit about how you took off because you wanted to protect him. And with the way you've been actin' lately? Nanami had us all convinced you'd pitched yourself off a bridge."

   Hinata blinked. His mouth felt dry. "What?" he repeated, but softer this time.

   "Sorry, I know that wasn't the most sensitive wording, but..."

   "You actually thought I was dead?" He let out a laugh, quiet and involuntary, but shut himself up when he saw Souda's glare. "Shit."

   "We didn't really _think_  it, but can you blame us for checkin' on you? Most guys have relationship problems and go to the bar, not fuckin' skip town."

   "So he told you about that."

   "Look, I know it's none of my business." Souda held his hands up before his chest, palms out. "But Komaeda explained this whole thing and, honestly? It sounds batshit. Like, absolutely batshit insane. Like you both absolutely lost it at the same time and there wasn't an ounce of rational thought in anybody's head, ya know?"

   "I guess it probably does look like that, yeah."

   "He said you hardly let him speak. I'm just sayin'..." Souda trailed off with a shrug.

   "What?"

   "Everybody thinks you should go home and talk to him."

   "What the hell does this have to do with 'everybody'? Since when is this a group decision?"

   "It became about everybody when Nanami fuckin' called everyone you know asking where you were, sayin' you were missing! I'm not tellin' you what to do, but he's miserable, and you're obviously a fuckin' trainwreck, no offence."

   Hinata rolled his eyes. "'No offence'." He cleared his throat then, inviting Souda to sit down beside him, but the redhead kept standing, looking thoroughly wary of the place. "Is Chiaki with you? Since she sent you, and all..."

   "Nah. She figured you didn't want to see her." Souda shrugged again. "And a guy's gotta be honest. You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

   Hinata snorted. "Somehow I don't think talking to Komaeda would help."

   "So you're just staying here?" Souda grimaced, turning to give the other side of the room a sweeping gaze as if Hinata somehow hadn't noticed that he thought it was disgusting. "C'mon, man, at least go stay with Kuzuryuu, he already said it was fine and his place is like ten minutes from the campus-"

   "Look, I don't know what you think this is, but I don't need your support. I'm here because I'm looking for my own place, and- and a job, and then-"

   "And then what? You'll go back to ignoring everybody's calls? Staying cooped up in the damn library all the time?" Souda paused, and then turned on his heel to fix Hinata with a perplexed look. "Wait, since when do you not have a _job_?"

   Hinata brought two fingers to each temple, rubbing in little circles where his blood was starting to pound. "I really don't want to talk about this."

   "Alright, fine. So, hypothetically speaking, if I told Komaeda to come over..." At last, Souda sat down on the couch, keeping his distance. "You'd make him leave? For his own safety, or whatever?"

   "Yeah."

   "Really?"

   Hinata swallowed and looked away. The last thing he wanted to do was give Souda the satisfaction of a negative answer, but he couldn't deny that he'd missed Komaeda. The more the thought on their conversation, the more he realised that Komaeda hadn't wanted him to leave. And while it wasn't his decision, maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant that Hinata somehow, against all logic, had been wrong.

   Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hear him out.

   Souda shook his head, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Christ, this sounds like a bad romance novel."

   "It's not like I can just call him."

   "Sure you can. Why the hell not?"

   "What would I say? 'Hey, Komaeda, sorry I'm inadvertently responsible for you being sick, and that I called you crazy last time we spoke, but do you think we could just put all this behind us and collectively ignore everything you told me?'"

   Souda frowned like he didn't see why that would be a bad idea. "It'd be a start. Hell, just you thinking about calling him is a start."

   "I'm not trying to be selfish."

   "He didn't say you were, man. Not that I'm taking sides. And if I was, it'd be yours, I hope you know..."

   "What would you have done?" Hinata asked abruptly. He wanted to look Souda in the eyes, but kept his head bowed, looking at his own feet instead.

   "Dunno. I'm not exactly the king of good decisions. Probably the same thing you did, 'cept I would've told my girlfriend where I was so she didn't think I'd offed myself, ya know..."

   Hinata laughed under his breath. "That probably would've been a good idea, yeah."

   "So you'll call."

   "If you're going to force me."

   Souda grinned. "The 77th has to stick together, right?" he said, curling his fingers into a fist and raising his hand to show Hinata his class ring, silver glinting in the dim light. The same ring Komaeda wore every day; the same one Nanami kept on a chain, tucked beneath her shirt, against her heart at all times like a Catholic cross.

   Hinata's was at home, in the box it came in. Another remnant he hadn't touched since graduation.

   He smiled back and responded with a fist bump. "Right."

 

   He put it off for another few days. Every time he thought he'd gathered the nerve to call, he found himself just staring blankly at the screen of his phone, the little square picture of Komaeda at the top of his contact page beaming back at him.  
  
   When he finally managed it, he was down on the beach again. Barefoot, with the surf up to his ankles receding again and again, he dialled Komaeda's number and waited.

   "Hi!"

   "Hi," Hinata breathed, the tail end of the word tinged with a laugh that bubbled from his throat before he could stop it. "How are you?"

   "Me? I'm fine! Better than fine, Hinata-kun, it's so good to hear from you." He heard shuffling on the other end of the line, like Komaeda was getting himself comfortable.

   "Yeah, uh." Hinata squinted out at the horizon. "I was wondering if you want to meet up. Maybe get some coffee? I can be back in town in a couple of hours, if you aren't busy."

   "I could come to you, if you'd like. Souda-kun said you're in Yokohama, right? It's only thirty minutes on the train."

   "Right, yeah. Okay. Yeah." He checked his watch; thirty minutes meant eleven o'clock, just in time to get breakfast somewhere. "Where should I meet you?"

  
~*~

  
   Hinata cleared his throat. "I guess the tumor didn't go away."

   They sat in a booth of an American-style diner just a block away from the train station, both staring at their untouched plates of food. Some horrendous country-rock music was playing over the speakers as Komaeda absent mindedly touched his fingertips to his temple, as though he could somehow feel the mass through his skull. He lowered his brows. "No."

   The first thing Hinata had noticed about Komaeda when he arrived at the train station was how chirpy he looked; it stung, to see him with eyes bright despite the dark circles beneath them, bitten lips pulled into a hesitant little smile when he found Hinata waiting for him on the platform. They didn't kiss, or even hug. They simply looked each other over, businesslike, and then Komaeda fell into step beside him and asked, "Do you know anywhere nice?"

   "And," Hinata ventured, tentative, "I take it you didn't tell your doctor about the luck cycle thing." He poured a small mountain of sugar into his coffee while he spoke.

   Komaeda chuckled under his breath. "I'm saving that for when I want to be locked up in psychiatric care." Hinata paused when he noticed the older boy watching him, almost critical. "I thought you didn't like sugar in it."

   Hinata looked down at his drink, and then up at Komaeda's perplexed face again. He shrugged, and lowered his voice, feeling sheepish all of a sudden. "It's, uh, really bad."

   "Oh."

   They fell into silence again. Hinata leaned back in his chair and watched Komaeda slice through his pancakes, cutting them into little syrupy squares but still not eating anything. He had so many questions; he'd gone over them in his head on the platform, planning to ask everything about doctors, about how Nanami had taken the news and what _exactly_ he had told Souda about their argument, about hospice care and the way cells spread and whether or not that was a real break-up or just a fight because he supposed the words had never really been _said_  so much as _implied_  - but he had no idea where to start.

   Komaeda caught him staring and glanced up with a smile. Wordless, he offered Hinata his fork, which still had a bit of pancake speared on the end of it.

   Politely, Hinata shook his head. "You look good," he finally said when Komaeda popped the pancake slice into his own mouth, and immediately cringed at how completely helpless it sounded. Komaeda didn't return the compliment. He only chewed thoughtfully, eyes down at his plate again. "I guess you've been... good?"

   "I've been alright."

   "Me too," Hinata said too quickly. He felt the beat of awkwardness pass between them, and, just for something to do, clicked his phone open and examined his home screen. Never in his life had he found it so difficult to make conversation. Even when Komaeda rambled about hope, he usually had something to say. His eyes darted around the diner, his mind whirring in a last ditch attempt to just _speak_.  
  
   "The lemonade looks nice."

   They both stared at Komaeda's glass of pink lemonade on the table between them for several long seconds, before the older boy nudged the straw towards him. "You can have some if you want, Hinata-kun."

   "No, I didn't mean- I just, I thought it looked nice."

   "It is." Komaeda clasped his hands on the table in front of him, his expression bkank. "What's it like living in Yokohama?"

   "It's fine. I mean, I'm not really living here- just, you know, staying with a friend." It was technically a lie, Hinata knew, but it sounded less pathetic than 'renting the shittiest room known to man', so he let it slide.

   "So you're... planning to come back?" Komaeda asked with raised eyebrows. He didn't look fazed by the notion, at least. Hinata supposed that was a good sign.

   "Well, you know," he shrugged. "I have to go back to school, and," he shrugged again, attempting to buy time to figure out exactly what else he was going back for. It wasn't like he had a job, or particularly wanted to see his friends. He swallowed. "Chiaki."

   Komaeda nodded. "Of course."

  Hinata kicked his heel against the bottom of the booth. At least this time there was no way Komaeda's chair would be collapsing. He remembered it like it was yesterday; the clatter of metal on concrete, and the plum-coloured bruise. Had that, somehow, been his fault as well?

   Again, he cleared his throat. "So... you and me, we're...?"

   "Fine."

   "We're fine," Hinata repeated flatly.

   "Mm." Komaeda abandoned his cutlery and pushed the lemonade across the table to him, his smile not fading for a moment. "You should really try this."

   Hinata folded his arms instead. "So that's it? We're just going to eat pancakes and pretend nothing's wrong here?"

   Komaeda didn't look up as he turned his attention instead to the syrup. He shook the bottle rigorously, and squirted a generous amount of it onto his still-full plate. "What do you think is wrong here?"

   Hinata just stared at him. He had no idea how to put that into words, no idea where to even begin. "Look." He reached out and grabbed Komaeda's wrist when he went for his napkin. "Stop messing with the stuff on the table and just look at me. The luck thing," he managed after a moment of thought, and Komaeda's shoulders sagged at the mention of it. "There's no way to take it back?"

   "Hinata..." Komaeda laughed, weakly, focusing on his food, half-heartedly cutting a strawberry in half with his fork. Hinata didn't bother to protest this time. "I didn't tell you about this because I wanted you to _undo_  it. To have this force pulling the strings without you even knowing about it, or having a choice... I just wanted you to know that you aren't stuck. That's all."

   "Stuck? With you? That's the entire reason why you..." Hinata trailed off, uncomprehending. He took a long drink of his coffee, feeling Komaeda's eyes on him all the while, and then stared, considering, into the mug at the swirling liquid. "Because you think something has, what, possessed my brain into thinking that I like you?"

   He said it with all the incredulity that he could muster, but Komaeda only shrugged as if to say, 'basically'.

   "So you don't think this is my fault?"

   "Of course not. If you get hit by a car and your health insurance company gives you a million yen, are they to blame for the accident? That's not the same as them paying you to get hit my a car, is it?" He paused, but Hinata didn't answer. "Wouldn't that make more sense, if it truly is 'good luck'?"

   He sat in silence while Komaeda asked the waitress for the bill, not even bothering to pull out his wallet to pay his half.

   "But I don't get it. What makes you think that? How can you prove it?"

   "I can't prove it. It just helps to believe it, and I really do. Going with the insurance metaphor... if the company didn't have the money, they couldn't go back in time and make the car not hit you, you know? They would only give you something else. And I don't want anything else."

   "Really?"

   "Really. I won't force you or anything. I understand why you wouldn't want someone with such a worthless, destructive talent like mine. But if it really is about my happiness, I'd like it to be you I'm happy with. So yes," he concluded, placing his much paler hand over Hinata's and caressing the skin, slowly, with his thumb. "We're fine."

   Hinata let the words settle. No doubt he'd dwell on them soon, between morning and night, awake in bed as always. His own bed. He couldn't think of a single thing to say except, "I guess I should go home now."

   "We could stay here a little longer." Komaeda propped his chin in his other hand, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Since you're already missing classes, and it's not like I h,ave any obligations. We could get a nice hotel room, maybe do some sightseeing if you want?" There was a sparkle in his eyes that Hinata couldn't quite read. "I wouldn't like to impose on your friend, after all."

 

~*~

 

   "Isn't it beautiful?"

   Komaeda had his palms on the glass shield that protected the watercolour painting behind it. A tiger in front of a sunset, all yellows and oranges and pinks.

   "I wish I'd taken art at school," he said, wistful. "Wouldn't it be amazing to learn how to paint?"

   Hinata wrapped his arms around the older boy's waist, resting his head on his shoulder. It was more affection than he usually cared to show in public, but then, these were special circumstances. "Who says you can't?"

   Komaeda snorted. "Hajime-kun, I have the artistic skills of a toddler, and not a talented one."

   "I meant, who says you can't learn?" Komaeda went stiff in his arms, and Hinata pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. The entire museum was probably staring at them by now, but Hinata couldn't help himself; after the time apart, it was hard not to be constantly touching, drowning Komaeda in the affection he'd missed out on.

   They ate at another restaurant that evening, and Hinata watched with mild confusion as Komaeda asked the waitress for a pen and proceeded to spend the next several minutes drawing on a napkin, shielding it from Hinata's view with his forearm and shushing him every time he tried to ask what he was doing.

   Just when Hinata was beginning to think he'd lost his boyfriend for good to his new artistic endeavour, the older boy slid the napkin across the table, looking so pleased with himself that Hinata had to laugh.

   It was little more than a scribble, and Hinata knew full and well that Komaeda could do better if he wanted to, but he didn't mind. He had expected something sweet; maybe a drawing of the two of them, or, if Komaeda felt like ruining his good day, the Kibougamine crest that Hinata always found himself absent-mindedly doodling in the margins of his own notebooks.

   "Is that..." Hinata trailed off, turning the napkin sideways, but after spending so much time around Nanami, there was no mistaking what he was looking at. "Is that a Charizard?"

   In the bottom left corner, Komaeda had signed in unusually neat handwriting, "nagito komaeda, 2011".

   "For when I'm a rich and famous painter," Komaeda said coyly, smiling behind the rim of his drinking glass when Hinata grinned and slipped the drawing into his pocket. "That autograph could be worth a lot someday, you know."

  
~*~ 

  
   Komaeda woke up screaming at 4:15am and Hinata was disappointed to find that, just like hotel rooms didn't help his insomnia, the nightmares seemed to chase the white-haired boy wherever he slept. 

   He'd been counting the beams across the ceiling when he heard the ear splitting shriek from beside him, higher and louder than any sound he'd heard Komaeda make before, and in the time it took him to flinch, the older boy was awake and shifting the mattress in his effort to sit upright, breathing ragged and choked, like he had somehow been crying in his sleep without Hinata noticing.

   "It's okay." As soon as he recovered from the shock, Hinata was fumbling for the beside lamp, blurting out whatever comforting words he could think of. "It's okay, you're awake." Finally, he found the switch and turned his full attention to Komaeda, now bathed in the yellow light.

   His entire body was shaking, like it always did. He had his back against the headboard, eyes staring dead ahead at the far wall, and for one long and horrifying moment Hinata thought he might be having another seizure. But that theory was crushed when Komaeda turned his head abruptly to stare at him instead, giving Hinata a good look at his face that his heart beating double-quick. Komaeda's lip was bleeding - bitten, probably, and there were two distinct red lines left from the unmistakable drag of fingernails from his forehead to his chin, thankfully avoiding his eyes.

   Komaeda had been fitful for a while, curled up in and facing the other way. Hinata swallowed hard. He should have known...

   "Holy shit," he said, his voice coming out raw. Komaeda's eyes focused with the words, pained and afraid, darting from Hinata's face to the blood smeared across the fingertips of his own left hand.

   "Wh-?" he stammered, holding his still-trembling hand up to the light, the red liquid shining. He paled. "H-Hajime-kun, I-"

   "It's okay." Hinata shifted closer, glad when Komaeda didn't shy away from his touch. Gently, he took Komaeda's bloodied hand in his and entwined their fingers, lowering their clasped hands down to rest on the duvet. "You split your lip when you were moving around, don't worry. It's just a little cut."

   Komaeda slumped back against the headboard, his eyes falling closed with relief. Hinata didn't know what he thought he'd done, but clearly it wasn't that. His chest still rose and fell with erratic breaths, and Hinata fought the urge to lay his head there and listen to Komaeda's heartbeat until he fell asleep again.

   "Sit tight," he said instead, releasing Komaeda's hand and throwing the covers back. The older boy didn't say anything; nor did he stir when Hinata returned and dabbed at his lips and hands with a wet wash cloth, staining the white cotton with red. He just watched, grey eyes growing more and more lidded with exhaustion as he calmed down.  
  
   "You're freezing, you know," Hinata observed when he dried Komaeda's hands with a different towel, swearing he was able to feel the chill of them even through the thick fabric. It reminded him of the night Komaeda told him about the dementia, how his body had been cold even though his clothes, and how damn hard it was to resist just clinging to him until their body heat was shared, even though it never seemed to help.

   He dumped the towels on the floor and when he turned back, Komaeda had shifted back onto his side again, head on his bloodstained pillow, facing away.

  
   Hinata spent the next hour messing with his phone and squinting against the sunrise. He could hear Komaeda's breathing, always even but not in the way it was in unconsciousness, his body too stiff to be resting.

   He decided to text Nanami back, finally; he scrolled up idly and guilt pooled in his stomach when he realised just how many messages she had sent him, all the little blue speech bubbles on the left side turning gradually into a litany of "please" until they stopped altogether about twenty-four hours ago. He had no idea what to say to her after that. After she had, according to Souda, assumed he was avoiding her at best and had died at worst.

   The former wasn't a complete misconception, but still.

   Hinata sighed. She didn't need to know that.

   In the end, he settled for a simple, _love you_.

  
   He must have drifted off at some point, because he woke early the next afternoon to the sound of Komaeda walking around in the bathroom, and the unmistakeable echo of his voice.

   Hinata just lay there for a while, starfished out under the plush duvet, everything clean-white and warm and perfect but for the streaks of blood on Komaeda's pillow, which he promptly turned over. Out of sight, out of mind.

   He dressed and did his best to neaten up his hair, trying and failing not to eavesdrop on what was obviously a phone call. The heavy wooden door did a surprisingly good job of muffling the words, but every so often he heard snippets of, "yes, he's fine," and "yes, I'm fine," and "no, we wont get mugged - it's a nice area, Chiaki-san, don't worry!".  
  
   When Komaeda finally emerged, he looked so tired that Hinata wondered if he'd even slept at all.

  
~*~

 

   They spent the day sightseeing after all. Komaeda seemed pleased with the chance to show off his Google Maps finesse, happily leading the way to the highest-rated tourist attractions and shushing Hinata's every offer to buy the tickets or the ice cream. He couldn't tell if he was imagining it or if Komaeda really was growing tired more quickly than he used to.

   Every so often, they rested on benches and Komaeda goaded Hinata into letting him snap a picture of the two of them in some ridiculous pose, the older boy's bottom lip evidently bruised and scabbed as he smiled for the camera.  
  
   When they got back to the hotel room well after sunset, the first thing Komaeda did was flop face-down onto the bed and let out a big, shuddering sigh.

   Hinata was the one to close the door, looking on with amusement as he just lay there, snow-white hair escaping in wisps from where he'd had it tied back all day, completely limp and lifeless but for the telltale shift of his shoulders as he breathed. Hinata removed his own shoes, and then removed Komaeda's for him before sitting down beside him.

   "My legs." Komaeda laughed his raspy laugh into the thick duvet, his voice muffled by it. "I'll never walk again."

   "It was a busy day," Hinata agreed. Even he had a pounding ache in the back of his calves. "But it was good. Thank you." He leaned down to press a kiss to the exposed back of Komaeda's neck.

   "Mm, don't thank me." With what looked like a huge amount of effort, Komaeda rolled onto his back, peering up at Hinata with a small, warm smile. Their faces were close, Hinata still sort of bent towards him, close enough to feel his breath on the exhale. "I like being alone with you."

   His pale lips parted slightly, and Hinata took the hint and leaned down again to kiss them, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Komaeda's shoulders. When he made to pull back, Komaeda slid his hand from where it had been gripping Hinata's forearm, up, cupping the back of his neck to pull him back down before combing through the younger boy's hair with his fingers, stealing more kisses as he did. The gentle slide and press of lips was all Hinata could feel, whiting out his senses; he chased the faint citrus taste, stopping only to readjust his position every so often when his arms began to hurt.  
  
   Komaeda didn't let him go until the cut split open and Hinata could taste copper in his mouth.  
  
   "Ugh." Komaeda wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, grimacing. "I'm sorry about that." He pushed himself into a sitting position, elbows on his knees. It was just as well, Hinata reasoned; they'd been hanging half-off the bed, just asking for disaster the entire time. "I _thought_ that would happen, but it's so hard not to kiss you, Hajime-kun."

   Hinata felt his cheeks colour with the words. He was already feeling pretty warm. This was when they usually stopped things: when their kisses grew deep and heated and Hinata could feel Komaeda hard against his thigh. But it seemed they wouldn't even have a choice this time.

   "Then again, I suppose you could always kiss me somewhere that isn't my mouth," Komaeda said nonchalantly, taking Hinata by surprise so much that his neck audibly cracked in his hurry to snap his gaze to Komaeda's. He was flushed, partly from the kissing and partly from the embarrassment at what he had just said.

   He wrinkled his nose. "That... isn't what I meant."

   "Are you sure about that?" Hinata teased, sliding a little closer. He wrapped one arm around Komaeda's waist, kissing his cheek, and then his earlobe. "Hm?"

   "I..." Komaeda started, but trailed off with a tiny gasp when Hinata moved his focus his neck, peppering the skin with nips and kisses. The angle was awkward and white hair tickled his nose, and Komaeda made a small noise of protest when he drew back.

   "You should do something about your hair," he said, reaching out to wrap a lock of it around his finger. The hairtie was long gone, lost somewhere in the duvet, and Komaeda huffed as he turned to look for it. He put the band between his teeth and spoke around it, muffled.

   "I'll be back," he said, before getting up and disappearing into the bathroom, giving Hinata one last smile before he closed the door.

   Water hit the sink, and Hinata grinned to himself imagining the white haired boy splashing himself with it, trying to cool down. He decided to take the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt, a million times more comfortable than the constricting jeans and button-down he'd had on all day, rough and digging into his skin. It was unlikely they'd be going out for dinner if Komaeda was so tired, and the room service was probably pretty good-

   Arms wrapped around Hinata's middle and he almost jumped out of his skin.

   "Hello," Komaeda breathed right by his ear, and Hinata could hear the smile in his voice. He leaned back against the taller boy, but something felt different. It wasn't until he looked down and realised that Komaeda's arms were bare that it clicked. "Why'd you get out of bed?"

   "Thought I'd change into something a little more comfortable." He turned to find Komaeda's eyes bright, and sure enough, naked but for his underwear. He'd seen Komaeda's body before, but never like this; only fleeting glances between the shower and the dresser, or when it was especially hot and they decided to go without shirts. Now, he could look as long as he wanted. "I guess you did the same?"

   "I don't know what you're talking about," the older boy grinned, and turned his head to the side, showing where his hair was tied at the base of his neck. Hinata had, predictably, not noticed. "I just had to tie my hair back. You like it?" Komaeda asked, looking to Hinata for approval.

   In lieu of an answer, Hinata placed his hands on Komaeda's slim hips and walked him back towards the bed. Their lips met once or twice, in between shy giggles and just about the most intense eye contact Hinata had ever experienced.

   He had to let Komaeda go to get up on the bed and settle himself against the headboard. "I guess you don't mind me kissing your lips now." Hinata grinned as Komaeda crawled up the bed and promptly sat down on his thighs, a knee on either side of his hips, leaning down to bump their noses together.  
  
   Komaeda moved to kiss him again, pressing their lips together sweet, and this time, Hinata had no intention of letting him go. He let the kiss deepen, his cheeks growing hot as he licked out over Komaeda's tongue and the roof of his mouth, earning a little moan as he did so. It wasn't long until Komaeda's fingers were teasing under the hem of his shirt.  
  
   And that was new. 

   He smiled to himself as Komaeda kissed his jaw, and then his neck, sucking a careful bruise into the flesh there.

   He had no doubt that a lot of new things would be happening tonight.

  
~*~

  
   "Hey." Hinata brushed a lock of hair back from where it was straying into Komaeda's eyes, tucking it gently behind his ear. "What was he like?"

   "Kamukura-kun?" Komaeda paused, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said there was no 'he'. That it was only you."

   "Yeah... yeah, I did. It's just, since I don't remember much..."

   “Do you remember what you said when you met me?”

   They sat together, backs against the headboard, bathed in the flickering light of the television. The movie kept playing; something black and white and unnerving, but Komaeda looked unfazed. He had muted it before speaking. Hinata had felt the other boy’s eyes on him, glancing over occasionally before focusing on the film playing out before them, swallowing back whatever words were lingering on his tongue.

   “The first time?” Hinata turned his head to find Komaeda’s eyes firmly peering into his, pupils large from the darkness. “How could I?”

   “Sometimes I think there’s still a part of him in you.” Komaeda shrugged. “Somewhere. Buried deep, maybe. Don’t you ever think about that?” 

   Hinata breathed in deep, his chest burning with the effort of it, the cold air in his lungs. “All the time.”

   “You said I was boring.”

   “I said that?”

   “You said that about everything. But about me, you said, 'ah, luck. I have that too.’ You already knew all about it.” Komaeda smoothed his hands over his shirt, the creases disappearing with the careful movement. “I thought you were a person who would understand me. Even if you didn’t like me.”

   Hinata said nothing.

   “Someone who idolized hope, and embodied it.” Komaeda’s voice had gone breathy with something like excitement or agitation, Hinata couldn’t tell which but both notions frightened him. “Someone who had my talent. Not even in my wildest dreams did I think that I would ever find someone like that. And then you came. And then just like that, you were gone again.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “No, don’t be sorry. Because I’ve been thinking about it too.” He took in a deep breath that made the hairs on the back of Hinata's neck stand up. “Why did you change your name?”

   “Because Hajime is the name my parents gave me." The words burned his throat on the way up. "And... that’s what I am.”

   “And there’s nothing special about you.”

   He remembered all the times Komaeda said he _was_ special, said he was ideal because of all those parts in his brain that they hadn’t been able to save, those parts that sparked and fizzled with something that wasn’t his own. Komaeda looked at those scars on his forehead like they were something divine; he always had.

   Hinata didn’t understand, but he didn’t disagree. “No. Nothing special.”

   “A worthless person,” Komaeda said simply, and Hinata squeezed his eyes shut, the words boring into him like poison. “Just like me."

   "How can you say that?" He fisted his hands in the blankets, trying to keep his voice steady. "Jesus, Komaeda, how can you even say that after what we just-?"

   "Because you're _just like me_." Komaeda put emphasis on the words like it somehow changed the meaning of them. "Do I sound like I'm complaining?"

   "Yeah, a little?"

   "Well, I'm not. Kamukura-kun was... difficult to be around. I felt a lot for him but, ultimately, we weren't friends. It was obvious that he didn't want to spend his time with me. Or any of us. And that there was something the matter with him." Komaeda shifted to rest his head on Hinata's chest, nuzzling against his neck, and Hinata went still and let him. "You came back so sociable."

   Hinata let his fingers card through the older boy's hair, eliciting a happy little sigh from him. He traced his fingertip over the smaller of his scars, back and forth, at the base of his skull. "Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? As... myself?"

   Komaeda ducked his head, his smile still visible. He looked just like a schoolgirl gossiping about an old crush, and it was equal parts heartbreaking and disturbing; enough to make Hinata glad that he had never asked about the past before. "I called you Kamukura-kun, didn't I?"

   "You said, 'I know you've changed, but that's alright'."

   "I'm flattered that you remembered, Hajime-kun. That's just what I mean. Kamukura-kun wouldn't have cared." His tone of voice was like he was talking about a long-dead acquaintance. In a way, it was a relief. The world at large still remembered him as Hope, as Izuru - but for all Hinata knew, that entire part of his life could have been a mass hallucination, nothing more than relayed stories and vague, hazy, sick memories. "Ah, he was special, but is he a person you'd be able to keep close to you? A person who would look after you?" Komaeda addressed his questions to the duvet, and then glanced to Hinata, imploring. "Do you understand?"

   "Not even slightly. But I'm guessing you don't hate me, considering."

   "I'm saying you're still more than I deserve, regardless of your lack of talent. That's all."

   "This isn't exactly normal pillow talk, you know."

   "You're right." Komaeda chuckled, and Hinata felt him stretch his legs out, bumping their ankles together in the process. "Mm... I know is a cliché line, but do you think it's possible for us to, ah, 'go again'?"

   Hinata rolled his eyes. "Because talking about the Project gets me so hot and bothered."

   "Well, maybe I can fix that." He pulled his shirt off over his head and, with flair, dropped it on the floor.  
  
   "Oh, well that changes _everything_." Hinata feigned exasperation, but he couldn't help but grin as Komaeda threw a leg over his waist and crawled on top of him again, leaning down to press a swift, sweet kiss to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was honestly the biggest pain in the ass of my entire life. i might come back and rework it a little later, but for now, it is out of my hands. goodbye, chapter 11.


	12. Inertia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _a tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an apology for screwing up my update schedule, and for this being a shorter-than-usual chapter, have [this cute song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jig4ykxZLMU) and a link to [this awesome art](http://checaria.tumblr.com/post/89316043219/chapter-10-broke-me) by checaria (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

   "On a scale of one to ten, how much is she going to hate me?"

   Komaeda glanced over the top of his book with a frown. "Zero?"

   They sat across from one another with a table between them. Komaeda, predictably, had his head in a book, while Hinata stared, absent and unseeing out of the window. It was snowing; not enough to halt public transport, but it still looked dreamlike with the crystalline flakes falling from the sky. It coated the tracks as the train rattled over the rails, the early February winds shaking the walls of the carriage.  
  
   It had been days since Hinata last got a full night's sleep. It was enough to make him feel a little bitter that Komaeda was looking remarkably well rested and put together, with his hair up as neat as it would go, and the skin beneath his eyes clear of dark circles.

   The IV mark on his wrist had healed over now, nothing but a slight blemish on the smooth, even skin, just a pinprick reminder of his trip to the hospital.

   Hinata drummed his fingers on the table, biting at the inside of his mouth. "That's not on a scale from one to ten."

   Komaeda's foot bumped his underneath the table. "She was a little worried about you, that's all." He licked his finger and turned a page. "You shouldn't worry so much, Hajime-kun."

 

   It was a matter of making the rounds, patching things up one at a time.

   He didn't believe Komaeda at all. They parted at the station, and Hinata sent the older boy home with his suitcase. He was unwilling to show his face in the apartment without some kind of apology. In the end, he wandered the shops until he was satisfied with a large cat plushie, a bag of pink bonbons and a cleverly-sloganned t-shirt with a graphic that looked like something from one of Nanami's games, though he couldn't remember which.

   It wasn't like it would make up for disappearing without a trace, but it was something. A gift to say he knew, at least, that in hindsight, it had been nothing short of horrible.

   Nanami was on him as soon as he opened the front door, and he dropped the bag in shock when her weight slammed into his front, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. She buried her face in his chest and he held her, tentatively stroking her hair until her grip slackened and she drew back. Her eyes were wet with unfallen tears and his apology died in his throat. Whatever he had to say, it wouldn't excuse this.

   "Everyone thought I was... crazy," were the first words out of her mouth, and he only stared at her, perplexed as she tried to find the rest of her words. "For thinking you'd... but you've been so..." She swallowed and shook her head. 

   She let him pull her into an embrace again, and the more they talked, the more it seemed like she didn't seem to blame him at all. While Hinata didn't press the matter, he had a suspicion that it had everything to do with how Komaeda had explained the situation.

 

   He visited his anatomy professor before class the next morning, sitting across from her desk with his back as straight as it could go, his shirt and tie on like he had to be formal. Like he was appealing.

   "It's a stressful course, Hinata." She fixed him with a look that was nothing less than sympathetic. She had her glasses down the bridge over nose, her hair up, looking a thousand times more put together than he felt. "There's no shame in switching to something more suited to you, especially since you're only in your first year."

   He caught himself fiddling with his tie and stopped abruptly, positioning his arms rigid by his sides. "I'm not stressed." At her disbelieving stare, he relaxed his posture some, and swallowed. "I mean, not more than normal. That day was just a one-off, I swear. My partner was in the hospital, and I hadn't slept in-"

   She silenced him, holding one hand up before her, palm out. "You don't have to make excuses. I'm not going to fail you."

   "You're not?" he asked too quickly, the hope in his tone so blatant that it sent a flood of colour to his cheeks.

   "Not on that basis, no. The fainting isn't the worst I've seen, anyway. At least you didn't vomit. Less clean-up, you know?" She gave him a small smile, and he did his best to smile back. "Just make sure you're prepared for exams, and everything will be fine." He nodded and mumbled his thanks, turning towards the door, but she stopped him, her words gentle. "As long as you promise me you'll think it over. Medicine just... it isn't for everyone."

   He felt himself tense, his shoulders rigid. Some nasty part of his brain piped up that maybe she wouldn't be saying that if he knew that his mother was a surgeon, that he himself was a Kibougamine graduate and would, undoubtedly, easily be able to land a position at the best hospital in the country once he had his degree. "I know," he said instead, not bothering to turn around. "Thanks."

  

   There was no fanfare when he went back to his classes again, and from time to time he found himself wandering around the food court in the student centre. It hadn't dawned on him until now that Nanami would expect him to be working his usual hours, and something told him that the last thing she wanted to hear after him disappearing for weeks was that small detail of him being fired.

   They barely saw each other at school, but risking it seemed like a bad idea. He hopped the first train into the city centre and wandered there instead.

   The snow had eased up, now, with only a slight dusting of it on the ground, making the pavements slippery. He had no idea what to do with himself these days. He spent the hours until his reluctantly-made doctor's appointment in an arcade, one Nanami never visited because it was 'too easy', and didn't hit a single high score.

  
 ~*~

  
   "I think the insomnia is starting to cause... problems." Hinata stared down at his hands where they were clasped in his lap. "More than just being tired," he said, giving the words weight, but the doctor's expression remained blank. "You know."

   He typed something on his keyboard, his fingers moving agonizingly slow. "Could you be a little more specific?"

   Hinata took in a deep breath before he replied, ignoring the man's gaze. He stared at the desk instead; the pen holder, the old-fashioned phone, the little notepads scattered around. "It's making me do things that I wouldn't normally do. Interfering with my life." The doctor nodded, and typed it up, and he continued. "I passed out in class a couple of weeks ago, and..." he trailed off, and for a moment he considered what happened with that kid - the way he had lost his mind, kicked and screamed like an infant, all after too many days of wakefulness. "I think I've been hallucinating."  
  
   The doctor just raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

   "One time at work," he explains, stained, because it sounds so ridiculous out loud. "I thought I said this person I haven't seen in a while and it was like I... just zoned out, like I wasn't even in control of my body for a few seconds." He stared at one notebook while he spoke, anything to avoid the gaze of the man who was analysing him. "I hadn't slept in days."

   "I see." The tap, tap, tap of the keyboard again. "Are you sure it wasn't really this person?"

   "Yes," Hinata replied without missing a beat. The doctor glanced up at him, clearly expecting him to elaborate, but he just nodded and said, "I'm sure."

   He was given a prescription for stronger pills and the promise that if this got worse, he would be referred to a neurologist. Just the word made his heart thud double-quick in his chest.

   "Is there anything else I can do for you today?" the doctor asked cordially, and Hinata was already shrugging his coat back on when the idea struck him.

   "Actually," he said, settling himself again. "Is there... I know this sounds stupid, but is there some kind of a cure for nightmares? For a friend," he added quickly. "I don't have both, that would be..." he trailed off on a laugh, and the doctor just barely cracked a smile.

   "There are treatments," he replied, leaning back in his chair, thoughtful. "Though it depends on the cause. It can be a common side effect of certain medications, if your friend is taking anything." Hinata almost laughed. "Of course, I'd advice them to talk it over with their own doctor."

   Hinata only nodded and echoed him. "Of course."

 

   He found himself absent-mindedly touching his fingertips to his forehead through the walk home, drifting over the rough scars. The insomnia had been there before the surgery, sure, but never before had it been _this_  bad. He'd been scraping by with energy drinks and coffee for years, sleeping every other night, but this was another level.

   Some part of him thought it might somehow disappear after losing his job, as though his stress levels would be lowered instead of heightened by the search for a new one. He took his time walking to the next errand he had to run, scanning every shop window for a 'help wanted' sign. It wouldn't hurt to throw his résumé at everyone who would accept it, for now.

   And Nanami and Komaeda still had no idea. Until now, Hinata hadn't known he was capable of lying about something like this for so long, but the stress of unemployment squashed whatever guilt he might have otherwise felt. If he didn't get on Nanami's back about constantly leaving her coursework until the absolute last second, or Komaeda's for keeping his illness a secret, then why should they magically have the right to police what he was doing with his life?

   He arrived home with grocery bags and Nanami asked her usual, "how was work?" from where she was bundled up in the couch, cocooned in the spare duvet and pushing the microphone of her headset away so they could talk, and he replied with his usual, "fine", and that was as far as it ever went.

   He busied himself with putting the groceries away, experimentally rattling his newest pill bottle. The others had been discreet, pink and white, but these were huge, swollen and pregnant with the sedative. In the bathroom, he realised with a pang of sympathy that the medicine cabinet was just about overflowing now, even though Komaeda claimed to have cleared it out recently. Hinata put his own pills away and closed it firmly.

   He made dinner while Nanami took a bath, and Komaeda came home while he was dishing it out. They'd fallen into quite the routine lately, this quiet domesticity that was a world away from all the drama. And it was nice. Komaeda had taken the liberty of signing them up for a painting class, and Nanami had taken to joining him on trips to the gym twice a week, and he studied and ate and went to bed at all the times the average person would.

   He wondered just how long it would last.

   They ate their soup in silence, Hinata squashed awkwardly between Komaeda, who was focused on the television, and Nanami, who was balancing her bowl precariously on her knees as well as her laptop, trying to eat and play at the same time. When they were done, he got up to put the dishes in the sink, and when he returned, Komaeda rested his head on his shoulder without a word. Hinata tensed, but Nanami didn't react at all. He pulled Komaeda closer, an arm around the older boy's waist, and couldn't help smiling at the happy sigh he got in response.

   Two episodes later, there was a sudden weight against his other side, and Hinata froze. It was unmistakable; the pattern of her breathing and the subsequent slide of her laptop onto the floor, landing with a thud that got no reaction at all from her. He watched as Komaeda leaned forward to shoot her a concerned look, which softened when he realised she wasn't awake to see it.

   "She slept in today," Komaeda said when Hinata began to absently comb his fingers through Nanami's hair, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she was tucked into his side instead of just leaning against him. " _And_  missed her morning class. I can't believe she's still tired."

   "You didn't wake her?" Hinata raised an eyebrow, still looking at the television.

   Komaeda huffed, but under his breath. "Well, I tried, but she wasn't interested." He noticed Hinata's scepticism and frowned up at him, his hair tickling the dark-haired boy under the chin. "I really did. I made her coffee and everything."

   "Mm," Hinata replied, non-committally, removing his arm from around Komaeda's waist and poking him gently in the side with his elbow. "Speaking of coffee..."

   The older boy met his gaze with bright eyes, which he promptly rolled in mock-annoyance. "I was asking for that," he said, leaning down to quickly kiss Hinata's lips - and Hinata had to force himself not to flinch, because the action felt distinctly wrong with Nanami's dead weight against his chest - before he got up and went to the kitchenette. Hinata got up, too, oh-so-slowly sliding out from beneath her before he picked her up, supporting her back and underneath her knees.

   "Why don't you ever do that for me?" Komaeda joked from where he was fiddling with the coffee maker, glancing over his shoulder when Hinata passed on his way to the bedroom. He was doing his best to tread carefully, though he had a feeling it didn't really matter. He'd spent hours in high school curled up with her in the quieter sections of the library, reading while she slept with her head on his stomach, even the one time when the marching band decided to stroll by right underneath the window.

   When he laid her down on the bed, she didn't even twitch.

  
~*~

  
   His phone rang at 3am, and it was an instant reaction to cup the flat over his hand over the speaker and wriggle from the bed, because people only called at 3am if there was a fire or a crisis or a time difference. He shut himself in the bathroom and tried not to groan too loudly when he saw the name on the screen.

   He answered it with all the enthusiasm he could muster. "Hi, mum."

   His parents always vacationed in Norway around this time, so it only made sense that they'd decide to call at the most ridiculous hours. "Hi, Hajime. Are you coming to the garden party this year?"

   "Uh." He closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temple with his free hand. Although he hadn't been sleeping, there was something about lying in bed unoccupied that put him in a pleasant trance, and his brain was about as switched off as it ever got. "When is it this year?"  
  
   "Last Saturday in April," she said, monotone, like it was obvious. He supposed it should be; this was the first year he wouldn't be staying with them through the summer, and his mind flashed with hazy memories of being forced to dress up smart in the searing heat, the fleeting taste of pink lemonade and the heavy perfume smell that lingered everywhere, politely greeting everyone and making an appearance before locking himself in his bedroom until everyone was gone.

   "I guess so," he replied after a moment of hesitation.

   "Good." She said it curtly, and he waited for some kind of _h_ _ow are you_ or _how's college_ , but she only added, "You can bring your girlfriend," and then the line went dead.

 

~*~

  
   "Jabberwock-"

   Nanami removed her hands from where they'd been covering his eyes, him sitting at the kitchen table and her behind him, and when he blinked them open his vision was too dazed to read the plane tickets that Komaeda was holding just inches in front of his face, but past them Hinata could see the way the older boy was looking at him with wide and excited eyes.

   "...Island," she finished, kissing his cheek quickly before pulling him close in a hug from behind. She rested her head on his shoulder, and Komaeda dropped the tickets down onto the table. They were both smiling, at him, obviously waiting for a reaction. Hinata could only blink, several times.  
  
   Komaeda pulled his phone from underneath the table and, before Hinata could stop him, snapped a picture of his undoubtedly shocked face, taking care to get Nanami in the shot where he was draped over him. Then, he angled the camera down and photographed the tickets as well. He didn't bother to protest. No matter how unflattering the picture was, all Komaeda ever did was tuck his phone away until the matter was forgotten and he got his way.

   When it was clear that he'd been struck into silence, Komaeda prompted, "What do you think?"

   "Are you serious?" Hinata couldn't help the slack of his jaw as he took the tickets. He brushed his thumb over the printed letters, expecting them to smudge, for the paper to be thin, fake.

   Nanami pulled up a chair and sat beside him, while Komaeda stayed standing, nudging a pile of papers towards him. Hinata picked one up; an information booklet, the front a photograph of a beach that seemed to stretch on forever, white sands under a blue sky.

   "We leave next week, for four days." She took his hand and squeezed it. "I thought it would be nice. You know, for-" she glanced at Komaeda then, and Hinata didn't miss the worry that crossed her face. "All of us. But then Komaeda found the tickets while you were gone, so we decided to surprise you instead."

   "So this was... you?" Hinata had never particularly liked surprises, but this was nothing short of a curve ball. She only hummed, and then just barely nodded. "How did you afford this?"

   "...I've been saving up," she waved the question off after a brief pause, and Hinata couldn't tell if it was suspicious or just her normal speaking pattern. Her living wage was scraped together from Youtube adverts and public appearances, and while she never seemed to have issues with paying the rent, he had no idea she had _this_  much. Her finances were her business, but Jabberwock Island was the kind of place his parents' _bosses_  would go on vacation. "For a while, actually. The plane leaves at five am on Monday, so just make sure you're ready. Everything else is all taken care of."

   She got up and returned to the couch, slotting her headset on without waiting for a response. He watched her go with mild amusement, noticing the spring in her step. He'd never seen her look so pleased with herself.

   "The plane?" He addressed his question to Komaeda, who was still flicking through one of the information booklets. He had it open at a picture of what looked like a bar, the apparently-English name glowing blue letters. "We're not taking a boat?"

   "Why?" Komaeda turned the page idly, not looking up from it. "Do you like boats?"

   Hinata folded his arms, schooling his face into a look of displeasure even though Komaeda couldn't see it. "You _know_  why, Komaeda. Are you sure you're okay with-?"

   "Yes, I am." He lowered his voice then, and while he was still staring at the pictures in front of him, Hinata could tell he wasn't really seeing them. "Why wouldn't I be? It's a short journey, and these tickets are first class... just a fraction of what Chiaki-san has planned. Do you really think of me as being so selfish?" He pulled back, his hands shaking slightly where they were still resting atop the pamphlet, the tremors rustling the page. "Well, I wouldn't blame you, Hajime-kun, I really can't help being disgustingly self absor-"

   "That's not what I meant." He cut Komaeda off as gently as he could. "It's not selfish if you're nervous about-"

   "Hajime-kun," Komaeda said again, and his tone was soft but it was a warning tone if ever Hinata had heard one. "I'm an adult. I can handle it."

   The words stung some, but Hinata only looked away. "Okay." He nodded, distracted, and hoped Komaeda wouldn't notice the strain of his voice. He didn't seem to. He had turned back to the image of the bar, examining it like he couldn't quite understand, though he had always been far better at English than Hinata and could surely read the blue lettering. But his train of thought had moved on, and that was good - he wasn't lingering, wasn't afraid. Hinata nodded again. "Okay. Good."

  
 ~*~

   
   "What do you think of these?"

   Komaeda sauntered out of the changing room like a clumsy catwalk model. He had on his usual white-and-red graphic shirt, but instead of the skinny jeans, he wore olive green cargo shorts, showing off the smooth, pale skin of his calves.

   "I think that's a daring colour on you," Hinata remarked as the older boy did a little turn. He still had little flecks of paint on his face and hands from the class, and the shorts were slightly too big, slipping down his hips enough to show the blue-and-white patterned line of his boxers. "I hardly ever see you in it."

   Komaeda only smirked, standing with his hands on his hips in front of the large mirror at the end of the corridor of chairs for those who were waiting. "I think I'll get them." He turned to examine his backside, face set in an expression of concentrated criticism, and Hinata almost laughed. "Did you see the bathing suits Chiaki-san got?" Komaeda added, giving himself a last once-over before he went back into the changing room and closed the curtain, muffling his voice a little. "I think you'll really enjoy them, Hajime-kun."

   Hinata couldn't see him, but he would bet every penny of his lottery winnings that Komaeda had just winked.

   "One of them has two pac-mans on the, ah... top half," Komaeda continued, audibly unzipping the shorts and stepping into something else. "And a ghost pattern on the bottom half."

   "Did she show you them?" Hinata teased, and Komaeda pulled the curtain back to give him a mock-incredulous look.

   "You shouldn't jump to conclusions." He threw the shorts at him, gently enough that they ended up draped over his face. He threw the hanger out as well, a moment later, but at Hinata's feet instead. "She showed me them on the _website_ , actually." He walked out to the mirror again, this time in red shorts and a white tank top, putting even more of his lean body on display. Hinata knew it was illegal to have sex in a changing room, but he couldn't help wondering just what _degree_  of illegal it was, and whether or not Komaeda would risk it. "She offered to get clothes for me, too, but of course I told her that wouldn't be necessary."

   "Wow." Hinata slipped the green shorts onto the hanger, watching Komaeda continue to pose, tugging uncertainly at the hem of the tank top. "She's really going all out with this, isn't she?"

   Komaeda made a face at himself in the mirror, attempting to adjust his shirt at the shoulders. There was a streak of paint on the back of his neck, too. Hinata didn't bother to point it out. "She said it's common for people to take a vacation after they're diagnosed, before they start treatment. But since I won't be having treatment, the sentiment is... a little different, I think."

   Hinata held his tongue, just watched in silence as Komaeda went to the changing room once again. Never in a million years would he have expected the white-haired boy to go along with something like this so willingly. It was obviously a parting gift, and maybe Nanami didn't mean it that way, but that was what it was.

   Last days in paradise.

   And Komaeda was so calm about it all.


	13. Hypnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **noun;**   
>  _the induction of a state superficially resembling sleep, in which a person apparently loses the power of voluntary action._

   It was like living the same day, over and over again.

   Hinata woke, or didn't wake, at five am. Showered, dressed, studied in front of the tv. Checked the mail, went to class, library, gym, home. Dinner, study. He'd brush crumpled-up pages of Nanami's portfolio off the dining table, and Komaeda would arrive home with pharmacy bags and the hospital smell clinging to him. At night, two pairs of hands clung to him, two bodies sandwiched his and he could barely move without suffocating between them.

   He woke, showered, dressed. Placement in the morning. His group fetched blood samples and chatted with nurses while he hovered in the background, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The on-call doctor asked if he was okay so many times that he had started turing it out, and then he went back to campus for a quick lunch before his afternoon classes.

   He watched in silence as Nanami swirled a chopstick around in her bowl, her head cast down.

   "...So he's just never going to tell me."  
  
   The student centre was always dead on a Friday afternoon, everyone either treating themselves to a better-than-cafeteria-standard lunch or just going home and foregoing their afternoon classes altogether. Hinata never skipped classes, but after his absence, he couldn't even contemplate the idea without being swallowed up by cold anxiety. He'd taken to living in the library again. With exams coming up, he had formulae and key words sprawled up and down each forearm in black ink.

   Nanami usually spent her lunchtimes in the computer lab, but today, she'd decided to seek him out specially. She twisted some noodles onto her chopsticks and raised them up, lazily watching the orange-red sauce drip off before dropping them back into the bowl with a splash.

   Hinata shrugged, raking a plastic fork through the little bed of untouched rice on his plate. He tried to keep his tone even, impartial. "I don't think he's the type to keep secrets."

   Her shrug was just as non-committal. Her 3DS was open beside her tray, and she glanced between it and her food while she spoke. "So you've asked him?"

   "Asked him...?"

   "About what happened."

   "No," Hinata told her, honestly. He had already elected not to pry unless Komaeda wanted to talk first - and clearly, he had recovered just fine without being poked and prodded at. "I thought you'd recognise a panic attack."

   The air seemed to go still between them. "...I did. But I've never-" she trailed off, swirling her noodles again, searching for the words. "Seen him that way. I didn't think that was how he'd react to being on a plane, you know." Her voice faltered to a mumble. "He didn't say anything."

   She put one fingertip on the circle pad, nudging it this way and that while Hinata watched, contemplative. Even at his worst, from what Hinata had seen, Komaeda was never really hysterical. He always had some aura of calm, even if that wasn't how he really felt. It was something Hinata had always admired, and watching the older boy break down in the middle of a crowded airport, suffering under all the stares and nearby whispers that came with it, was all the more jarring for it.

   He didn't have a clue what to say, other than 'of course'. Because of course she hadn't seen him that way. Hinata wasn't even sure she'd seen him outside of the apartment more than a handful of times since they'd been living together.

   He cleared his throat, setting his cutlery down and pushing his plate away from him. "He doesn't like flying since the accident, I guess."

   Nanami's entire body went rigid, and she raised her head slowly, her eyes full of worry and barely-concealed dread. "The 'accident'?" 

   Hinata blinked at her, then abruptly looked away, his gaze wandering over to the full-length windows on the other side of the room. Clear as day, he remembered sitting out in the grounds with Komaeda in high school, not so long after they'd met, and the older boy airily explaining why he'd exempted himself from their physics class during a lesson on aerodynamics. He'd been casual and honest about it at the time. "I thought he just... told people." The sky outside was dark, the glass spattered with spring rain. He could just about sense her raising her eyebrows, her stare boring into him. "I thought you knew, it's-" he floundered, then sighed in defeat. "You should talk to him about it. It wouldn't be right if I told you, you know?"

   She nodded mutely, and they ate the rest of their meals without another word.

 

   Gym, home, study, dinner. He ticked the days off on the calender until his first final exam in mid-April, and recited the names of hormones to himself while he rearranged the bookcase one evening, slotting his medical journals and thick, heavy textbooks in with the hard-back mystery novels Komaeda spent half his free time reading, these days.  
  
    He slotted the folder in last, black and foreboding, outside of alphabetical order because there was no use in naming something they never talked about.

   They had, at least, stopped keeping it under the bed; the black folder with so many printed-out articles it was a struggle to close it, the one that Hinata couldn't come up with a title for. He tried them out when he leafed through it during his lunchtimes, idly going over it inside his head. The Dementia Folder. The Research Project. The "What To Do When Your Loved One Is Dying" Anthology.

   It contained more advice than they'd ever need, but none of it seemed very helpful yet. There were plenty of instructions, for example, on how to handle episodes, which Komaeda didn't have. There was financial advice, urging him to get a will written up, but that wasn't the easiest thing to suggest without putting on unnecessary pressure. There were even pages and pages on what to do when your loved one becomes depressed. 

   Hinata sat at the kitchen table and read them while Komaeda flitted around behind him, humming quietly while he made breakfast. Every time he glanced up, the smile was never off the older boy's face. He kept up that same tune when he left to get the mail, and then returned in a hurry when he realised two steps out the door that he was still wearing his sleep shorts, and Hinata watched with warmth spreading in his chest and wondered if he hadn't been researching the wrong things all along.

   They stopped keeping the folder under the bed because it wasn't supposed to be shameful. Hidden away, there was no way to read it without an underlying sense of guilt, like intrusion. So it lived on the bookshelf, in plain sight. Together, they added to it, expanding through brain tumours and cancer as well as FTD - but no matter how swollen with information it became, Hinata couldn't fight the sense that it wasn't telling them anything they needed to know.

   It seemed to offer as much insight into how Komaeda felt as Komaeda himself did; which was, as usual, none at all.

 

  
~*~

 

  
   The good thing about not working was that it gave him time to think.

   And granted, most of the time was spent thinking about how he was _not working_ , and the lottery money was dwindling faster than he thought it would, and how damn useless it was to look for work when your previous employer was undoubtedly telling everyone that you're crazy and like to verbally attack customers - but still, it helped a little, to have the space. It was harder in the apartment, with the ever-present school work and partners needing something or other. The fresh air helped.

   Komaeda dragged him down to the hardware store early one morning to "help with the heavy lifting", and all that metaphorical space evaporated with the other's presence. It felt nothing short of domestic, to be wandering around the aisles of paint and plants and power tools, standing with arms folded while Komaeda crouched and peered at everything before he eventually found what he was looking for.  
   
   "Ta-da!" He announced, throwing an arm out while he stood side-on, gesturing to a row of white-painted doors, all lined up at an angle.

   "Really?" Hinata smirked while Komaeda walked off, eyeing each door carefully as he went. "You're making me carry a _door_ back to the house?"

   "It might fit in a cab." Komaeda threw a smile over his shoulder before stopping in front of one that looked vaguely similar to their bathroom door; but then, they all did. He ran his hands all up and down it, like he knew what he was doing, before giving a hum of approval. "Think you can manage it?"

   "What's a boyfriend for?" Hinata replied, flushing pink when Komaeda leaned in to give him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek.

   They tracked down the purchasable version, all wrapped up and gargantuan, and Hinata managed to slide it onto the trolley and pushing it halfway to the checkout before Komaeda stopped him. "There's no doorknob on it," he said, pointing at the empty hole in the wood. He glanced back over his shoulder and sighed.  
  
   "I'll get it," Hinata assured him, letting go of the handles and letting Komaeda take his place. "And hinges," he added as an afterthought. "I'll meet you at the till in a minute, okay?"

   He half-ran through the store, all the way back to where they came from. Sure enough, there was a brassy little section dedicated to what he needed, and everything they'd need to install it that wasn't already in the toolbox at home.

   When he got to the checkout, Komaeda was nowhere to be found. There was just row after row of convener belts and tired cashiers in obnoxious blue aprons, the squeaks of wheels and the beeps of scanners all around. He sighed, and leaned up against a wall to wait. His eyes ran back and forth over the mouths of the aisles, but minutes ticked by and neither Komaeda nor the trolley made an appearance.  
   
   It wasn't like it would hurt to go about his usual procedure while he waited. He was certainly desperate enough.

   He approached one of the employees, taking one of his printed-off resumes from his bag. "Excuse me," he said, giving his best smile to the bored cashier at a queue-less till. "Are you hiring?"

   He realised his mistake when the person only stared slack-jawed at him for several seconds before shrugging, mumbling something about the manager, and ambling off inside a nearby office. He didn't bother to protest. He just stood there, idly examining his nails on one hand, the other clinging to one the neat little folders he'd taken to carrying around with him.

   The manager arrived at the same time Komaeda did. The latter came dragging the plastic-wrapped door on a low trolley, as well as the new addition of a couple of plants in yellow pots, walking backwards and pulling with all his might to move the stiff wheels. It was almost comical, but Hinata didn't have time to help or even laugh before an older, balding man was greeting him, shaking his hand, looking for all the world like he just stumbled out of bed, his eyes were lidded so heavy with disinterest.

   "My resume," Hinata said after stating his name, and flashed that smile again. The manager took the resume without returning it, and while he skimmed it, Hinata looked back to find Komaeda standing there with arms folded, an eyebrow raised. He could only shrug back. Komaeda only let his gaze drift, focusing on a nearby hanging plant while the ambient clatters of the hardware store surrounded them.

   "Well," the manager began, and Hinata prepared himself for the usual, 'we'll look it over', 'we'll call you', and then no contact ever again. But then he stopped suddenly, his eyes bulging, still on the page. Hinata froze, wondering if the resume had somehow been vandalized, and he could feel Komaeda tense behind him. "My God," he said at last, raising his head to look Hinata in the eyes. "Kibougamine academy?"

   "Oh." Hinata forced a smile, and nodded. "Yes."

   "What's your talent?"

   "Um." He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Hope."

   "'Hope'?" the manager repeated, like he'd misheard. Hinata nodded again, fighting the urge to look away. As impressive as it sounded at the time, job interviews weren't exactly the best place to explain what his talent was _supposed_  to represent - but then, not everybody even asked. No matter how the staff at his old school might have felt about the place, the truth of the matter was that while everyone had _heard_  of it, very few people in the real world really cared about an old and financially failing private school.

   Apparently, he'd managed to find one of the ones who did.

   "Listen, I don't usually do this," the manager said, leaning in close and perking up all at once. "We're not exactly hiring, but with qualifications like this... you're really extraordinary." He handed the resume back and pulled a little planner from his pocket, flicking through it while Hinata just stood there, stunned and slack. "I can schedule you an interview and hope my boss feels the same way as I do about this?"

   "Y-yeah, that would be..." Hinata trailed off, shaking his head in wonder. He got a time and date the following week and another handshake before the man retreated back to his office, and he turned to find Komaeda's eyes on him, curious.

   "Looks like I found my second job," he lied smoothly, taking the handles of the trolley and pushing it towards a self check-out station.

   It didn't take too long to pay for the door and the plants. What _did_  take a long time was when a taxi driver proceeded to turn them down on the grounds of not wanting his back window broken, and the subsequent hour-long walk home.

   "So we'll have privacy," Komaeda announced when they were dragging it up the stairs, Hinata going backwards up the concrete, his fingers dented and raw from the plastic. "Since we'll probably be needing it from now on, won't we?"

   Hinata humoured him. _Privacy_. As if there was any privacy to be had in that little apartment anyway. "Will we?"

   They paused at the bend in the stairwell. Hinata's tired muscles protested, sending stabs of pain through him when he had to lift the door above his head, manoeuvring it around the banister. But the pain faded when Komaeda had the nerve to actually _wink_  at him, grinning and playful. "Oh, I think we will."

  
~*~

   
   The routine settled again.

   The placement took a toll on him that he couldn't quite describe. They had him bouncing back and forth between suburban clinics, children's hospitals, nursing homes. They even spent a day observing in a psychiatric ward, which was helped a lot in deciding what he absolutely _didn't_  want to specialise in.

   He came home, showered, showered, showered to get the bleach-and-plastic scent off him.

   If Komaeda ever told Nanami about his parents, Hinata didn't hear about it. What happened at the airport seemed to have put a wedge between them; one that had finally been crumbling after months of living together. They ate in silence some nights; others, they talked about nothing in particular, and Hinata's mind wandered back to when Komaeda had said this was really all he wanted. That the happiness of being with Hinata and Nanami was enough.

   It was, at least, a permanent reminder to enjoy the brighter moments.

   Hinata sat at the kitchen table surrounded by textbooks, study guides, and notepads, clad inelegantly in sweatpants and a t-shirt while Komaeda and Nanami flitted about dressed up to the nines, dress shoes clacking on the wood floor, bending down to his level every so often for help with zipping a dress or tying a tie, the whole apartment suffocating under the mingling scents of hairspray and perfume.

   "You look beautiful," was all he could say when they finally presented themselves to him, standing rigid next to each other on the other side of the table. Nanami had her hair curled and pinned up, the usual hairclip glaringly absent, and she looked less than comfortable in the glittery silver dress she'd chosen for the occasion. Her posture stayed stiff and awkward while she turned, going a half-circle to show Hinata the back of her outfit.

   Komaeda, on the other hand, actually looked more at ease. Simple black suit, white shirt, black tie, hair up. He was also the one laden with the gift bags, for Nidai, and the flowers, for Owari - which he had insisted on, even though Hinata had pointed out that they weren't exactly her thing.

   "Both of you," he added, putting his chin in his hands. He received two tentative little smiles in return. He didn't even have to be asked before he pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a few pictures, emailing them to Komaeda before he accepted the goodbye hugs and kisses and saw them out.  
  
   In a way, he missed high school. He missed copying down formulae and strings of numbers he knew he'd never have to use again, missed letting his memory latch on for only a few weeks before discarding the information forever. The nonsense in his university textbook, on the other hand, was with him for life.

   He sat at the table, leafing through notes from class and from his placement. He couldn't tell if he really _had_  missed all the most difficult things, or if it just seemed that way - the list of subjects he had to cover alone spanned two sheets of his A4 notebook and he couldn't help but wonder if it was really worth coming back at all. The best thing about Yokohama had been no work, no classes, no placement. No formulae. No panic attacks.

   He slammed his head down to the table and groaned, the laminate cover of his anatomy textbook softening the blow. He let himself wallow in self-pity for a moment before he straightened up again, pulled himself together, and opened it to the page of the first topic he had to study.

   And right there, in the very middle of the page, was a piece of folded up pink paper.

   He narrowed his eyes at it. He never took notes on pink paper, and he definitely never left them in the middle of the textbook.

   He unfolded it. Scrawled simply across the centre of the page were the words _you can do it!_ in familiar handwriting, the bottom right corner signed with a heart and a doodle of a cat face.

   He smiled to himself, setting the paper to the side, open so that the message was visible from the corner of his eye as he took his notes. When his middle finger was dented and bruised from the pen, and his mug of coffee emptied, and the textbook chapter complete, he flipped to the next section, only to find another little note on the first page.

    _i love you so much!_

   It set a tightness in his chest that he couldn't describe, constricting all the way up to his throat. This time, the smile on his face stayed all the way through the chapter, and at the end, he found yet another note.

    _you work so hard, hajime, but make sure to treat yourself too!_

   He'd barely finished reading when the front door was suddenly thrown open. "We're ho-ome!" Komaeda called in a sing-song voice, stumbling inside and looking surprised to see Hinata sitting at the table, the exact spot he'd been when they'd left. It only fazed him for a moment before a grin split his face and he steadied himself against the kitchen counter. "Oh, hello."

   Hinata raised an eyebrow. Komaeda's hair was down now, his tie stuffed in his pocket with just the tip peeking out. "Where's Chiaki?"

   "She's right here!" Komaeda announced, and as if on cue, Nanami appeared through the doorway behind him. Her outfit, at least, was still intact, though she was swaying a little. When their eyes met, she giggled, unusually loudly. "Right here-" Komaeda said again, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her forward. "And we-" he added, smirking, "-have plans-" and Nanami's cheeks blushed hot, "-for you."

 

~*~

 

  
   The sun rose at four-thirty and Hinata rose at five. Brushed his teeth, showered, ate leftover soup for breakfast and sat out water and aspirin on each of the end tables in the bedroom, making sure not to wake Komaeda and Nanami as he did.

   He'd slept for four or five hours, but his vision still blurred at the edges. There was no doubt that it would be a long day, even with that glow he'd be carrying around with him after last night.

   He watched TV, studied, packed his bag. As an afterthought he took the black folder with him, planning to scan it for new material through lunch. He locked the door behind him, stuffed the contents of their letterbox into his book-bag, ran to the subway in the pouring rain.

   The morning commute crowd pressed in from all sides and he tried to blame the heavy, tight feeling in his stomach on the coffee. Kneaded his temples. For a distraction, checked his mail.

   He tore the first letter open, and found a small card from his dentist, encouraging a check-up. The next was a bill. The next was a letter from the public assistance service, and the paper crinkled as Hinata's fingers tightened around it, almost tearing.

   He scanned through the paragraphs, tense and unbelieving. His heartbeat was deafening him by the time he finished. The letter itself was a printed, official notice that since _the patient_ 's life expectancy had shortened, his welfare had been adjusted accordingly. His eyes widened at the new figure. It even had a little paragraph tacked on to the end encouraging both the carer and the patient to attend a support group or some other therapeutic service.

   He read it over and over, convinced every time that he'd find his own name at the top. But instead, he was met with the same three words, over and over again. _Miss Chiaki Nanami..._

   And all at once he remembered what Komaeda had said after during their argument. _Don't worry about that. You aren't registered as my carer._

   The train ground to a halt at his stop and, with trembling legs, he left the carriage, letter still fisted in his hand, fingernails tearing the page. He balled it up and threw it in the first trash can he passed, not looking back as he continued on his way to class.

   He supposed some things were better left unsaid.

  
~*~

 

   He stayed up for six nights, until just standing up was enough to make him dizzy and sick and Nanami was bringing his food to the couch, unnecessarily feeling his forehead with the back of her hand every time she set a plate down.

   "I can sleep on the couch tonight." She hovered in the doorway, just before leaving for class, with her cat backpack slung over her shoulder and her mouth turned into a frown. "If it helps to have space."

   "It doesn't," he said, curtly, and rolled over so he didn't have to watch the door slam behind her.  
  
   He wrote the days into his sleep journal, _zero hours zero hours zero hours_ , until the night before the interview, he found himself in front of the bathroom mirror with a glass of water and the untouched bottle of pills. They were big; huge like technicolour roaches in the palm of his hand. He choked them down on the second try, spitting red and yellow into his hand where the bitter casing had melted into the wetness of his mouth.

  
   He waited for them to kick in. Worked on an essay, then scribbles notes from a textbook until the writing blurred on the page and the space behind his eyes began to ache, his head swimming with the desire to be curled up and cozy. He stumbled to the empty bed and burrowed underneath the covers, asleep as soon as his vision went black.

   He slept, and woke to an orange sky and the contentment of rest.

   He blinked at the ceiling a few times. His arms were splayed out on either side of him, with nothing in their way; warm on cold sheets. His mouth felt dry and still tasted bitter, and from the other room he could hear the clink of someone washing dishes, and Nanami's voice as she commentated over some video game, a little quieter than usual, probably for his benefit. Unlike before, the door muffled most of what was going on. It was closed with just a sliver of yellow light escaping underneath, along with the light sounds he had to concentrate to hear. The tinkle of 8-bit music and the squeak of rubber gloves against porcelain, all on the same frequency as his own deep breaths.

   Hinata took the time to stretch his muscles, waiting for the fog in his brain to clear and the stiff bones to crack before he finally hauled himself out of bed, pulling on a random t-shirt from the dresser and ambling out into the living room. The light was almost blinding, and he squinted against it. With his eyes still half-closed and adjusting, he mumbled, "Wh'time's it?"

   "Almost seven." Komaeda was the one to answer him, cheery but with a low tone, as Nanami was still recording. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Hajime-kun," he teased, moving from the sink to the dining table to gather the last of the plates. Hinata noticed, dully, that one of them looked almost completely untouched, the curry and rice sliding inelegantly into the trash as Komaeda scraped the food off before depositing the plate in the sink. Then, he fetched a water bottle from the fridge and handed it to Hinata with a smile of understanding. "Drink up. You must be thirsty."

   Hinata looked at the chilled bottle in his hand and found it surprisingly appealing. "Yeah," he said distractedly, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. It washed the ugly taste from his mouth. "Thanks."

   His gaze wandered to Nanami, sitting on the very edge of the couch with a controller in her hands and her microphone on the coffee table. "She'll be late for class." He shifted the bottle to his other hand and pressed his cold palm against his right eyelid in an attempt to wake himself up. "Ugh. So will I."

   "We already called in sick for you." He shook his head like Hinata was being silly, so silly that it actually concerned him a little. "Chiaki visited your teacher and brought some work back, if you want it."

   Hinata blinked at him. "What?"

   Komaeda opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a loud rumble from Hinata's stomach. They both stared at it; Hinata's eyes wide with shock, Komaeda struggling to hold back laughter. "I saved some dinner for you," he said, gesturing to a bowl on the counter that Hinata hadn't noticed before, the same rice and curry that Komaeda had just cleaned up. "Should I-?"

   Hinata cringed. "Oh, fuck." He glanced out of the window, and sure enough the sky was already darker than when he woke, and they had just finished dinner, and he was so, so thirsty-

   And the interview was at nine.

   "I slept all day." It wasn't a question, but Komaeda along nodded anyway. "For... almost twenty four hours? How?"

   At last, the video game music halted and Chiaki looked in his direction. Her voice came soft, and uncertain. "We thought you needed it. You didn't stir even once, so..." She allowed herself a small, reassuring smile. "Don't you feel better now?"

  
~*~

  
   It took Hinata about five seconds to realise that despite what his well-meaning middle school teacher had told him back in the day, he was not a talented artist.

   He came to the class because Komaeda asked, and it was kind of hard to say no when Komaeda asked for something. He had this way of bringing things up nonchalantly, so casually that it was like he already expected an answer, or perhaps didn't think his request required one at all. So Hinata had started tagging along, and while Komaeda seemed to be improving, he himself was clearly not.

   "The lighting is nice," Komaeda remarked from behind him, looking over Hinata's shoulder at his easel. "It's very pink." 

   Hinata shot him an incredulous look. "Thanks?" he said with a little smirk, which Komaeda returned. He kept swiping his brush blindly across the canvas, streaks of cerise over the black "forest" he had already depicted.

   They were surrounded on all sides by an eclectic mix of middle-aged couples, in a small room off the side of the art museum. It was a nice atmosphere; the kind of relaxing, friendly group that you could just sink right into, and with their respective quiet and unobtrusive demeanours, they seemed to fit in just fine. Other than having to wear an apron, it was a decent way to unwind after a long day of classes and pretending to have a job.

   Plus, there was the added bonus that Komaeda always tied his hair back for the class, which gave him something nicer to look at than all of the paintings combined.

   "Alright." The artist taking the class clapped her hands together, raising her voice above the casual chatter. He slipped his paintbrush back into the pot, and Komaeda went back to his own easel. Hinata listened attentively while she announced that they'd be peer-reviewing today - "but not with your partners, guys, that sort of thing can cause irreparable damage," - and as soon as the polite laughs died down, the lady on Hinata's left was swapping places with him and he went along with it, shooting Komaeda a grin as he went.

   Komaeda looked less than thrilled about the prospect, but Hinata didn't have much time to dwell on it. The painting before him was a much different interpretation of the prompt 'forest' than his. While he'd tried to go for dawn breaking over a beautiful winter grove - tried being the operative word - this woman had painted a good-enough-to-be-recognisable portrait of Forrest Gump.

   He struggled not to laugh.

   "It's _horrible-_ " Komaeda's voice pierced through the crowd, and Hinata's head snapped around. He was standing with his arms crossed, in what looked like a one-sided conversation with his assigned partner. He couldn't see Komaeda's face, but he could see the woman's. She looked nothing short of stricken.

   The other voices died down as Komaeda's got louder. "Even someone as useless as myself can see that you didn't even try," he spat, not slowing down for a moment, and that was all Hinata needed to hear before he was pushing past the new people between them. "If _despair_ is what you were trying to capture here, then I think-"

   "Komaeda!" he all but hissed, grabbing him by the arm and finding himself instantly shrugged off. That was all it took to have Komaeda turning on him instead, and the moment their eyes met, Hinata could see that something wasn't right. He didn't look angry like he had during their argument about the luck cycle; that had been real, genuine - now he just looked glazed-over and mindless.

   "Look at this!" Komaeda's tone was uneven, absolutely dripping with resentment, though who it was directed at, Hinata couldn't tell. " _Tell_ her."

   "I wasn't-" Hinata cut himself off, clenching his fists, not even bothering to give the painting more of a passing glance. It was navy on blue, the trees all squiggles, surreal. "Tell her _what_?"

   "How completely _un_ talented she is. How she'll never contribute anything to society with this kind of-"

   "Shut _up_ , Komaeda," and this time Hinata did hiss, just barely resisting the urge to slap a hand over the older boy's mouth. Komaeda fell silent instantly, but looked plenty sour about it. He just folded his arms again, staring pointedly at a wall when Hinata finally turned to the woman, who was now obviously close to tears. The sight had an icy-cold sensation creeping through his chest, and he realised suddenly that he had no idea what to tell them.

   "The painting's fine..." was the first thing that came to mind, and he said it just to say _something_ , because the silence in the room was suffocating him. "I'm sorry about this, he really didn't mean anything by it. He's just a little..."

   Words swam in his head. Delusional? Irritable? He glanced at Komaeda, his heart sinking when he noticed that he was definitely listening in. Well, how could he not? He was being talked about, and right in front of him. "He's very ill," was what he finally settled on, fixing the woman with a sombre look to prove that he meant it. Komaeda snorted, disbelieving, at his side, but didn't protest.

   Hinata mumbled apologies all the way out the door, thanking every god there was that Komaeda followed him without a fuss. He couldn't imagine having to force him. Hinata definitely had a strength advantage, but it would take a hell of a lot of willpower to drag a struggling boyfriend through the museum and outside to calm down. All the articles said to call the emergency services, instead. He shuddered at the thought.

   "I thought you understood," Komaeda said as soon as they were out the main door, and he sounded so completely _betrayed_  that remorse shot through Hinata's heart before he could even register what he'd done wrong. He glanced over just in time to see Komaeda scuffing his shoes on the pavement, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like a sulking teenager even though he was going on twenty.

   "I'm not a mind reader," Hinata replied.

   "How important talent is." Komaeda didn't miss a beat before he started explaining, and Hinata would've bet half his lottery winnings that he'd been planning it all the way out of the museum. "Or didn't you learn anything at Kibougamine? Not that that would surprise me at all, since you spent half your time on sick leave." He sighed, leaning heavily against the stone wall behind them. Wistfully, he gazed up at the sky. "I suppose it's all up to me."  
  
   Hinata just stared at the pavement. Komaeda's ranting wasn't exactly a new thing. He'd heard it all through high school, and heard even more from others that he was absolutely _insufferable_  in his first year. Overwhelmed by the school was he was, just about every sentence he came out with had been about hope or talent in some way. Hinata was glad he'd missed out on that. "You don't have to look so down about it."

   Hinata pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts while Komaeda spoke. "Of course I do," he said. "Someone has to be honest with people like that. They can't help what they don't understand, Kamukura-kun."

   His fingers went slack and his phone slipped from them, cracking audibly on the pavement. " _What_ did you just call me?"

   Komaeda paled, and wide and stricken eyes gave away what he'd definitely heard himself say. "I said Hajime, didn't I?"

   Hinata said nothing. He couldn't. He bent to pick his phone up, dusting it off and finding the screen only slightly broken; intact enough that he could bring Nanami's information up on the screen and tap out a text while Komaeda hovered silently beside him.


End file.
